


Flowing From Me, Into You

by SinisterSound



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Excuse my grammar, I can’t tag, Illness, M/M, Nightmares, Not so secret facilities, Parental Issues, Powered teens, Secret Facilities, They have powers, Wooyoung is Yeosang’s emotional support boy, but Seonghwa is his favorite, but they’re not superheroes, fast paced plot, powers!AU, sorry if it sucks, that’s gonna be a different fic, the writer is trying different styles, this was try #3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinisterSound/pseuds/SinisterSound
Summary: People with special abilities are placed into compounds with others of special abilities. They are locked away, given no contact with the outside world, and are going to be there until the day they die.This was the best thing that had ever happened to Yeosang.





	1. Yeosang and Wooyoung

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to write something short and fun and this is what I came up with!! It killed me not to turn it into something longer, but I controlled myself!  
I hope you enjoy this little smidge of writing while I challenge myself with different styles/writings!  
Let me know what you think, and If you think I should stick to my day job lol!!  
Have a great day!  
-SS

There are few truths known to the world to be absolute. 

A few exist: The sky is blue, the Mental Class is rare, the earth revolves around the sun, a silk worm will make any potion triple its original strength, and Seonghwa was Yeosang’s favorite. 

It wasn’t anything personal. Nothing to get upset or jealous about. It simply existed as a truth to the universe: trees produced oxygen and Seonghwa was Yeosang’s favorite. 

Of course, just because a truth was absolute doesn’t mean it always existed. But just because you didn’t know about the truth, didn’t mean it hadn’t always existed. 

Before he was 19, Yeosang didn’t even know Seonghwa existed. But once he turned 19, once he was packing his bag with tired limbs and a heavy heart, once he walked up to the little compound his new “family” was occupying… only after all of this did this truth form into being. 

Because only after all of this, only after walking inside and seeing a line of people waiting with sad, empathetic smiles, only after going down the line and shaking their hands as they introduced themselves, only after clasping Seonghwa’s hand in his with an awkward smile- 

Did the whispers finally fall silent. 

~~~~~~~

Yeosang hid it quite well, he thought. 

His puberty passed without incident, according to his relieved parents, just a growth spurt and his voice deepening to show for it. They were practically pale with relief. 

And Yeosang liked living at his house, so he didn’t say anything about it. He simply went through his life, adjusting to it and ignoring it. He shook his head, plugged his ears, and kept his mouth shut. 

Mental classes were rare, everyone knew this. And they were the first to be snatched up. 

So Yeosang went through a good portion of his life, ignoring it, even as it grew more potent. Your abilities were meant to grow with you. 

Yeosang learned very quickly that this was not to his benefit. He thought growth would mean control. 

He was wrong. 

Growth meant waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and a scream silent on his lips as he rocketed out of bed, arms wrapped around himself as if it would ward off a chill that had already seeped to his very bones. 

Growth meant taking a little nap during boring 4th period and falling out of his chair as he jerked away, running from the room despite the calls of his teacher, finding the nearest bathroom to throw up in. 

Growth meant telling his parents he just had a lot of homework, so he hadn’t been sleeping, that’s why he looked tired. 

Growth meant shaking his head so hard it spun as he tried to shake off the barely-audible whispers in his mind that made him feel like he was slowly going insane, but he could never silence them. 

Growth meant the whispers gaining volume, passing from inaudible hisses in his mind to just loud enough to catch a word or two. 

_ She… Fall…  _

_ Die… It…  _

_ Scream… Stop… Not _

Growth meant staying home day after day because he was too exhausted to even sit up when his mother tried to coax him from a bed he hadn’t slept a wink in. 

Growth meant darker dreams and more twisted visions passing in front of his eyes each time he closed them. 

Growth meant finally waking up screaming, pushing himself into a corner and screaming for his parents to fucking stay away,  _ don’t touch me-  _

Growth meant after weeks of waking his parents with his screams that ripped him out of his sleep, they brought him to a doctor. 

Growth meant no longer being able to hide as the doctor asked his parents to step outside so he could speak with them. 

Growth meant staring blankly, too exhausted to even feel regret, as his mother came in crying, demanding to know why he never told them, why did he hide, did he not trust them- 

Growth meant a sober-faced man in a suit pulling up to their house, telling his father that it was time, and his father said  _ nothing _ . 

Yeosang walked out with him, glancing back to try and see his parents once more. 

Growth apparently meant they couldn’t look at him anymore. His mother was crying. He honestly couldn’t tell what reason she was crying for. 

Yeosang shook his head as he sat in the back seat, hitting the side of it as  _ Crash… No one…  _ echoed around. 

They never made sense. 

The man in the suit looked at him sternly from the rearview mirror. “Precognition’s a bitch, isn’t it?” 

Yeosang only stared back. He was silent as they drove, and only after an hour did he finally speak. “Where are we going?” he asked quietly, staring out the window. 

“Compound,” was the only response. 

Yeosang glanced at the back of the man’s head, frowning. “Where’s the compound?”

“Can’t tell you that.” 

“Aren’t I going to see it anyway?” Yeosang questioned. 

“Yep. But by then, you won’t ever be leaving, so it won’t matter.” 

Yeosang’s heart skipped as his stomach swooped, eyes widening for a moment. He knew that the compounds were where the people with abilities stayed, but it had never occurred to him that he would  _ never leave _ . 

“What- can’t you just  _ see  _ where it is?” The man asked, grinning wickedly. 

Yeosang’s despair was flattened by a flair of anger. “It doesn’t work like that,” He grit out stiffly. 

“Hm,” the man said, disinterested. “Seems like a pretty shit ability, then.” 

Yeosang couldn’t fucking agree more. 

“Sucks, doesn’t it? Being one of the most hunted people for an ability that isn’t even worth shit. Mental class get the short end of the stick, I guess.” He glanced back in the mirror, eyes hard. “Should have been a physical or magic class, kid.” 

As if Yeosang chose this. 

~~~~~~

Yeosang moved down the line of people, shaking their hands as they introduced themselves. 

Hongjoong was another mental class, smiling with sad eyes that were so empathetic that Yeosang almost couldn’t bring himself to move on. There was San, Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho- the physical classes. And then Wooyoung the magic class. 

Seonghwa was a magic class, too. 

“Seonghwa,” he introduced, smiling gently as he reached a hand out. 

Yeosang tried to keep smiling, but his face was getting tired of lying as he reached his hand out, taking Seonghwa’s gently- 

The whispers suddenly shut off like a switch being flipped. 

Yeosang felt something like a shock of electricity pass through him as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground. 

Not the smoothest first meeting, according to the others, but not the worst they’ve ever had (Thanks, Jongho.). 

~~~~~~

Yeosang woke up in a bed, with Hongjoong sitting in a chair across the room. 

Well, a more appropriate description would be: Yeosang woke up screaming in a bed and Hongjoong fell out of the chair he had been sitting in. 

He rushed over, but Yeosang threw out a hand, shaking his head as a cold drop of sweat slipped down his spine, making him shiver. He closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath as the imagine of fingers slipping off the edge of a building faded slightly. He drew a hand over his eyes- 

And something warm washed over him, calming his heartbeat and stopping the icy rush of blood through his veins. The panic faded until the only thing wrong was the whispers and echoes of someone screaming for help. 

Yeosang looked up sharply, and Hongjoong watched him quietly, looking hesitant. 

“What did you do?” Yeosang demanded, lifting his hands that didn’t shake with adrenaline. He felt… calm. Despite his blood rushing. 

Hongjoong blinked. “You… You noticed.” 

“Of course, I noticed!” Yeosang snapped. He almost felt empty without that familiar fear. “What did you do? I feel- I-” He stared at his hands, wondering where the pounding of his heart was. 

“I just… I tried to calm you down,” Hongjoong said quietly, looking almost guilty. “You- I don’t think I’ve felt many people panic that bad, and I- I guess I panicked, too. Sorry, I should have asked. I  _ usually  _ ask,” he assured him quickly. “I just- You were screaming.” 

Yeosang wanted to stay mad, but he just sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Yeah, that’s normal, unfortunately,” he sighed. “You might have to get used to it.” 

Hongjoong just hummed quietly. 

Yeosang looked up at him. “So you’re… what? An empath?” Mental classes didn’t have many options for what they could be, so the list was limited. 

Hongjoong opened his mouth, closed it, looked away. “Not really,” he said, running an agitated hand through his hair. “It’s not really a… registerable ability.” 

Yeosang’s eyes widened. 

“It’s kinda like… just mental control. Not really just telepathy- I can do that, though,” Hongjoong informed him. “It’s just like… I can move things around in the brain.” 

“Mind control?” Yeosang found himself asking. 

And then regretting because Hongjoong winced a little. “I think so. I’ve never tried.” 

Yeosang swallowed around his dry throat as he stared. “So you’ve just got… all of them?” 

“Not telekinesis,” he said. “I can’t actually do anything like that, I just like… see the brain like a computer, and I make it do things.” 

Yeosang nodded slowly. Holy shit. 

So basically, he was probably sitting in front of the most rare, valuable mental class on the planet. Yeosang pointedly did not think of what he must have gone through getting here. 

“But… precognition, that’s…” Hongjoong hesitated slightly. “It doesn’t seem very fun.” 

Yeosang almost wanted to laugh, if he didn’t feel like throwing up. “It’s not.” 

And Yeosang suddenly remembered that there had been a shining, blessed moment of silence. Before he passed out. 

“What did he do to me?” Yeosang asked, blood a little cold again. He stared at Hongjoong with wide eyes. “The- The last one I touched. San- No, the-” What the fuck was his name?

Hongjoong definitely looked guilty. “Seonghwa.” 

“Him!” Yeosang burst, feeling almost… unsteady. “What did he… he did something, I didn’t-” 

Hongjoong rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that was an accident, I swear,” He said nervously. “Seonghwa can’t really… turn off his ability all the time, but people don’t usually have such…. I guess, violent reactions to it. I mean- you’re a mental class, so we should have assumed, but- I mean- Usually, people just complain about it being tingly. He didn’t mean to.” 

Yeosang felt the urge to be ill. “I… It was quiet when I touched him.” 

“What was?” Hongjoong asked, frowning. 

“The- The whispers,” Yeosang said quickly. “I- I always hear voices and shit, they- they whisper things from the future, and I can’t- I can’t ever turn them off. I-” He was quiet. “I don’t even remember the last time I didn’t hear them.” 

Hongjoong, of everyone here, was privy to exactly what sort of hell that was. 

“Seonghwa… He can turn off powers,” Hongjoong said quietly. “He mutes them, suppresses them, whatever you call it, when he touches people. Usually, he can hold it off if he wants to, but…” 

Something flickered in Hongjoong’s eyes, he glanced at the door of the room. “We’ve been having a rough few days, preparing for the newcomer so… so everyone’s a little… off, right now.” 

Muting… powers? Yeosang had only heard about that as a possibility. He had never heard of someone actually having it. 

“He freaked the fuck out, though,” Hongjoong said, as if comforting Yeosang. “He thought he’d killed you or something, even after Yunho said it was just a shock to your system.” He tilted his head. “Which, considering your voices went silent after so long as having them as a constant, that’s understandable.” He frowned gently. “Was it… painful? Are you okay? How do you feel?” 

Yeosang felt like he was floating for a moment, not quite touching the ground. 

“It felt... unbelievable.” 

~~~~~~

Yunho was a healer, as Yeosang found out when he entered into the room, asking if his services were needed. But Yeosang was physically fine, even if mentally he was freaking out a bit, still. 

He exited the room, assuring them he was fine, and they stepped out into a steel hallway, walking down into the open area they had been introducing themselves in before. 

“San!” 

Two blurs raced by, running around the room. 

“Come on, I just need a few feathers!” Yeosang realized the second blur was Wooyoung, one hand reaching out towards San and the other holding a large florence flask filled with a glowing blue liquid. “It’s the last thing I need!” 

“No, it hurts when you pull them!” San shouted, leaping over a group of chairs, using them as a barrier as the two of them circled each other like predators, both of them glaring. “Go find a puffin somewhere else!” 

“Why would I do that when I could just get them from you?” Wooyoung demanded. “If I order them, I’ll never get them in time, I need them  _ now _ !”

“Should have planned your potions better, then!” 

Wooyoung lunged, and San jumped back, body flashing a bright golden light and suddenly a sparrow was soaring up to the ceiling, circling and squawking angrily. 

“Asshole!” Wooyoung snapped, and the sparrow flew lower, just out of Wooyoung’s reach, chirping smugly as it flew just beyond his fingers. 

Yeosang blinked. Oh, yeah. Physical class. Animal transformations weren’t very common, but certainly more common than what he saw next. 

Wooyoung just rolled his eyes, thrusting the flask he had been holding into the air, throwing the liquid up. The sparrow (San) cawed, shooting away, but Yeosang saw some of the glowing liquid splatter against his wing. 

The sparrow dropped like a stone. 

Yeosang’s stomach dropped as his eyes widened, feet jerking forward- 

“ _ No, no _ ,” Hongjoong said quickly, hands placating. “No- he’s not dead, he’s just sleeping. That’s Wooyoung’s ability, he’s somnokinetic.” 

Yeosang’s horror dimmed minimally as Wooyoung caught the sparrow carefully, rolling his eyes as he placed it on a chair and poked it gently on the chest. 

The sparrow immediately shot up, chirping out what was surely a vast number of sparrow profanities. Wooyoung just stared, unimpressed. “Just turn back!”

Another flash of golden light. 

“-knocking people out of the sky!” San snapped in annoyance. “We  _ talked  _ about this, you don’t just-” 

Wooyoung held up the empty bottle. “Well, I don’t need the feather now, because  _ somebody  _ forced me to use the potion to prove a point.” 

“Don’t blame your petty ass on me!” 

This sounded like something that happened often. Lovely. 

Wooyoung sighed, lowering the flask. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll put in an order, since you’re set on being difficult. I hope it was worth it.” 

“It was!” San huffed in annoyance, a flash of light, and an orange tabby raced out of the room, bobbing between their legs. 

Wooyoung turned, muttering under his breath. “Stupid. Can’t even give up a couple feathers in the name of magic-” 

His eyes fell on the three of them standing there, and he froze, mouth opening as he looked from Yeosang’s slight-horror to Hongjoong’s disappointed glare. 

His shoulders fell. “I  _ didn’t- _ ” 

“ _ Yes _ , you did,” Hongjoong broke in sternly. “You very explicitly just misused your abilities, and you’re cleaning  _ that  _ up,” he said, pointing at the splatters of glowing blue potion. “Honestly, Wooyoung? Right in front of the newcomer?” 

Wooyoung glanced at Yeosang for only a moment, eyes unreadable, but they stared at Yeosang with too much knowledge than he was comfortable with. “To be fair, I thought our newcomer was still unconscious in the bedroom.” 

“ _ Not the point _ .” 

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “ _ Fine _ ,” he groaned. “I’m cleaning it up, for fuck’s sake.” 

He turned, muttering under his breath again, bending over to start wiping up the potion. 

Yeosang’s first day at the compound was interesting to say the least. 

~~~~~~~

Some people were embarrassed to show physical affection. 

“Some people” did include Yeosang. But it wasn’t embarrassment, it was just… he never really did it before. He would hug him mom goodbye before school, his father would nod at him from the breakfast table, and his friends and he would push each other around as boys did. 

Other than that… he never really had a use for it. So he wasn’t quite used to it. 

That very quickly was stomped out of him. Maybe he himself was no more affectionate, but he became quite used to receiving it. 

The people at the compounds only interacted with each other. (And the occasional black suit that showed up to ensure none of them had died. But day in and day out… it was each other.) 

Which meant if you didn’t want to go crazy, physical affection was needed. 

The first time San flopped onto him on the couch nearly gave him a heart attack. When Mingi would sneak up to tug on your clothes and run away snickering (stupid, annoying invisibility), when Wooyoung poked and prodded just because he could, when Yunho hugged him good morning because he hugged  _ everyone  _ good morning- 

It was weird. But okay. It took very little time for Yeosang to begin accepting these advances, taking them in stride, and ultimately enjoying them, even if he made a big deal out of being annoyed. 

He didn’t have a right to complain, though. 

Yeosang  _ clung  _ to Seonghwa. 

After the initial guilt-ridden apology that first day, Yeosang had only had one question burning at the front of his mind: Can you do it again?

For the first time in nearly six years… Yeosang felt peace. 

The voices were dimmed or silenced completely, and the constant ringing of his ears finally faded out until the only voices he heard were the ones speaking directly to him about what he wanted for dinner. 

Seonghwa had gloves that he wore sometimes, just so that he wasn’t turning off powers left and right when he wasn’t paying attention to who was touching him, but for Yeosang, he removed them without complaint. 

Yeosang apologized after his rather odd request that Seonghwa turn off his powers every now and then, but Seonghwa had just smiled quietly. 

“It’s a more common wish than you probably think.” 

Yeosang had just stared silently. 

Seonghwa never had a single qualm about offering his arm to Yeosang to hug onto, his hand for him to hold, or just a pinkie to lock together. It didn’t matter: all of the touches were enough to quiet the whispers. 

And it became a universal truth: if you saw Yeosang, Seonghwa was going to be somewhere in the vicinity. The others liked to giggle about imprinting ducklings and overeager mother-figures, but none of them could begrudge someone that sort of relief. 

Especially not a mental class. 

Yeosang was given his own room (like each of the others). And he was grateful for the steel walls and doors that were enough to keep his screams from reaching the others in their rooms. He still pressed hands to his eyes as if that would keep out the sight of people falling to the ground or buildings collapsing. 

Why was the future always so fucking grim? 

It wasn’t even like Yeosang ever saw enough to know where or when or who. He just saw disaster after deadly disaster and he watched on helplessly. 

He would pace his room, staring around the dark room, singing, dancing, drawing- anything to try and calm his mind to be able to sleep again, despite the fact he had barely slept since this all began. 

Until one night, there was a knock on his door. 

Yeosang, still covered in disgusting sweat that had already cooled, jerked his head up, wondering if someone heard him accidentally knock over the lamp. He held his breath, hoping they would just think he had fallen back asleep. 

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa’s voice called through quietly. “Can I come in?” 

Yeosang bit back a groan, scrubbing at his face as he got up with heavy, tired limbs. 

_ Car… No…  _

Yeosang opened the door slowly, just enough to look out of. 

Seonghwa stood there, expression concerned, hair tousled from sleep, and Yeosang chewed the inside of his cheek. “Did I wake you up?” he asked quietly. 

Seonghwa shook his head. “Wooyoung did,” he said, and before Yeosang could ask, he went on. “Are the nights really that bad for you?” 

One thing Yeosang had needed to get used to: people here spoke candidly. No one minced words, and no one was afraid to mention that elephant in the room. 

Yeosang knew he usually looked like shit, but the expression on Seonghwa’s face made it seem like he  _ really  _ looked like shit right now. He dropped his eyes to the ground. “It’s just nightmares,” He muttered, wondering what he needed to say to get Seonghwa to leave so he could go back to internally panicking. 

“Of the future?” 

Yeosang nodded. 

“Yeosang… when was the last time you actually slept well?” 

He couldn’t help it- he laughed. A sharp, bitter snort that probably answered the question better than he ever could. 

Seonghwa winced. “Right, stupid question for a mental class,” he muttered. (Seonghwa had a weird knowledge of mental classes.) “Do you want to try something?” 

Yeosang glanced up. “If it’s weed, then no. I already tried that.” 

There had been an article online about mental classes, Yeosang had been desperate, needless to say it was useless in easing the visions, and only freaked him out more because of the drug in his system. 

“No,” Seonghwa said sadly, as if Yeosang was breaking his heart. “Usually, my muting works even if the person is asleep. If you want to try, I could sleep with you and see if it stops the nightmares.” 

And Yeosang tried to imagine placing the silence from the whispers… over his dreams. To fall asleep and actually just...sleep. 

It seemed impossible. But, then again, the silence of the voices had seemed impossible, too. 

“Have you ever done that for anyone else?” Yeosang questioned. 

It didn’t seem like many of the others had issues with their abilities. Certainly, Yunho wasn’t healing people in his sleep, and maybe Yeosang had walked in on a lemur sleeping on the couch, but Hongjoong assured him that normal and harmless. 

Seonghwa, however, did that quiet smile he did sometimes. “I have.” 

Yeosang swallowed. “Did it work for them?” 

“Yes.” 

And, really, what did Yeosang have to lose but his pride when he inevitably woke up kicking and screaming? (If he fell asleep at all.) 

“Okay, then,” he said quietly, not quite meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. “If you think it’ll do something…” 

There was a stiff shuffle of Yeosang stepping aside and Seonghwa stepping in, and both of them walking over to the little bed. Seonghwa gestured towards it. “Just lay down how you usually do. I’ll fit around you.” 

And it wasn’t awkward, but it was  _ weird _ . It made Yeosang feel like a kid. 

(But most of the others felt like kids under the care of Hongjoong and Seonghwa. It wasn’t that they were that much older than the others, but both of them had sort of adopted the rest of them as some sort of kids-responsibility-pets.) 

But he just swallowed down the weird and laid down in the bed, shuffling under the covers and turning on his side. 

Seonghwa sat on the edge of the bed, one leg dangling off. “Okay, here,” he said, holding out a hand. “We’ll just see how this works.” 

Yeosang stared at the hand for a moment before nodding, reaching out to take it. 

Immediately, the whispers that had blended into background noise went silent, and Yeosang closed his eyes, reveling in the silence that surrounded him. It was different than during the day, with other stimuli around. But at night, when he was laying there with nothing but a plea on his mind for them to just let him fall asleep- 

Yeosang didn’t remember falling asleep, the darkness swallowing him whole and dragging down further than he could ever remember being. 

He slept for two days straight. 

“Hyung, I think at this point, it counts as being unconscious, not asleep.” 

“If you wake him up-” 

“He’s been drifting for hours, hyung, if he wakes up, it’s not me.” 

“Well, you are our sleep expert.” 

“Why are you saying that like it’s sarcasm? I  _ am  _ the sleep expert. And he’s not asleep right now, he’s just dozing.” 

And when he woke up, it was to a crackly throat, dry eyes, and… 

His head felt weird. Like… echoing. 

“Morning.” 

He blinked hard, turning and seeing Seonghwa, still sitting beside him, hand still clasped in his. Yeosang swallowed. 

“How did you sleep?” he asked, a small smile on his lips. 

Yeosang sat up slowly, hardly believing the sensation of quiet in his chest. “You were here the whole time?” he asked, voice rough and raspy. 

Seonghwa hummed. “I left a few times to take care of some stuff, but not for long. You didn’t wake up screaming, though, so I think it worked.” 

And Yeosang… 

Yeosang cried. 

~~~~~~~

The problem with finding a good thing? 

You wanted too much of it. 

The biggest problem with finding a good thing? 

People like them weren’t allowed to have it. 

Yeosang continued to attach himself to Seonghwa, hands clasped tightly, arms looped, fingers intertwined, and a close proximity while Yeosang slept. 

“You don’t… have to,” Yeosang told him one day. “I know I do it all the time, but you can say no.” 

Seonghwa just smiled sadly, like he sometimes did at Yeosang, and shook his head. “It’s not like it’s hurting me or anything. And I don’t mind it, really. It… feels nice being able to give you that.” 

And, no, the muting was not hurting Seonghwa. Not in the slightest. 

Seonghwa was not the one it was hurting. 

Despite sleeping better than ever, Yeosang woke up with tired eyes and aching limbs. Seonghwa frowned at his haggard face, touching his forehead. “Are you getting sick?” he questioned. 

According to Yunho who ran his hands gently over Yeosang, there wasn’t anything physically wrong with him. “I mean, he’s weak,” Yunho said quietly, frowning. “But I don’t see anything that’s causing it. I mean, there’s nothing here for me to heal, but there are things that need to be healed.” He looked at Yeosang. “Do you have any idea what could be causing it?” 

Yeosang didn’t know. But his body ached and with each day that passed, his energy depleted. His appetite was nonexistent, to the point where the others were beginning to look at him with worried eyes. 

“Come on, it’s just broth,” Wooyoung coaxed, sliding the cup over to Yeosang with a nervous smile. Yeosang hadn’t touched any food for almost two days now. “It’s not that heavy- just something get food into your system. Then maybe I can help you get to sleep or something.” 

Yeosang really didn’t want to, his stomach curdling, but Wooyoung looked so fucking worried and hopeful that it would help. 

Yeosang grabbed the cup in weak hands, lifting it to his lips. 

The salty scent of chicken hit his nose, and he dropped the cup, dropping over the side of the chair to vomit on the floor. Of course, having eaten nothing, there was only burning acid in his throat as his stomach convulsed. 

Wooyoung held him up as he emptied his stomach, yelling for Yunho to get his ass over here. 

Yeosang blinked and suddenly he was laying on the floor, Yunho’s brow furrowed in concentration and concern as he ran his hands over Yeosang’s body, trying to find  _ something  _ to heal. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Wooyoung demanded. 

Yunho shook his head sharply. “I don’t know, there’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with him, but  _ everything’s  _ wrong, he’s-” 

Yunho’s hand passed over his neck, trailing to his forehead, and his eyes widened. 

“ _ Oh _ .” 

Yeosang felt too sick to remain listening, closing his eyes against another wave of sick. 

When he opened them, he was in bed, staring at the ceiling behind feverish eyes, stomach rolling as another vision of crushed bodies floated before his eyes. He flipped over, dry gagging over the side of his bed. 

The whispers sounded so fucking loud, making his head pound. 

Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yunho entered, Wooyoung peeking in but not entering. 

“Yeosang…” Hongjoong looked… sad. Pitying. As if he was going to be the one to deliver the horrible news. 

His stomach dropped, Seonghwa staring at the ground, not looking at him. 

“We figured out what was wrong with you,” Hongjoong told him. “Yunho finally thought to look past the physical issues you were experiencing.” 

Yunho shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Our abilities… they stem from us, right? They’re a part of us. As much as our blood or nerves.” 

Yeosang nodded as best he could, swallowing down another wave of nausea. 

“Well… what happens when you don’t exercise a limb?” he questioned rhetorically. “It atrophies. It weakens, and when you do try to use it, it hurts because it hasn’t been used in so long.” He rolled his lips, indecisive. “The reason you’ve been sick is because Seonghwa’s been muting your ability too much.” 

Yeosang opened his mouth, but gagged, closing it tightly and shutting his eyes as another gag made his chest ache. 

Seonghwa still wouldn’t look at him. 

“We didn’t… realize something like this would happen,” Hongjoong assured him regretfully. “None of us have ever had him mute us for so long. But… if he stops muting you, and you let your ability run its course, it’ll fix itself.” 

And even through his horrible aches and pains, he understood. 

He could either suffer from no sleep and no peace, or he could slowly wither away. 

Yeosang swallowed thickly. “I understand. It’s.. It’s fine,” he said because Seonghwa looked ready to kick himself. Guilty. As if he could have known what would happen. “I lived this long without it, haven’t I? It’s not like it’s that big a deal.” 

No one looked like they believed him. 

That first night with the nightmares returning full force was worse than any Yeosang could remember. It had only been weeks without them, since Seonghwa had been laying with him, but he hit the ground, limbs shaking so hard, one of his arms gave out, making him hit his chin on the ground. 

He crawled to the corner as if it could protect him, arms curling around himself as darkness threatened the edges of his mind, his breath stalled in his chest, he couldn’t  _ breathe- _

The door to his room was torn open, Wooyoung racing in, eyes wide and desperate, frantically searching the room and his attention landing on Yeosang in the corner, something like relief and horror etched in his eyes. 

“ _ Jesus _ ,” he breathed, stepping closer. “You scared the shit out of me, what the fuck was-” 

Yeosang threw a hand out, as he always did. “Don’t,” he managed, hand shaking. “Stay back.” 

Wooyoung froze, eyes an odd mixture of lost and calm. “Your dream cut off so suddenly,” he said quietly, voice even and slow. “I was honestly scared you had died or- or something.” He crouched onto the ground, eye level with Yeosang. “Are you ok-” 

“Can you stop talking for a minute?” Yeosang whispered, feeling his stomach spasm again as he tried to keep his mouth closed. 

Wooyoung winced. “Sorry.” He settled, crossing his legs and waiting a few feet from Yeosang. 

After a few minutes, Yeosang looked up, eyes sharp. “Stop it,” he snapped, voice weak but firm. 

Wooyoung jumped, startled by the words. “Stop what?” 

“Making me sleepy,” Yeosang said darkly. “Stop it. I don’t  _ want  _ to go back to sleep.” 

“I-I’m not-” Wooyoung blinked. “I- It just happens sometimes, I can’t- It’s just my ability, I’m not doing it on purpose.” 

Yeosang shook his head, but it only made it spin, so he stopped, breathing deeply. 

It seemed like he wasn’t the only person with abilities out of his control. 

(He felt the urge to throw up, but more to  _ cleanse _ , as if vomiting everything up would just clear out his inside and make everything feel better  _ somehow- _ )

“Are you okay?” Wooyoung asked quietly. “Like… obviously, you’re sick, but are you… okay with like…” He gestured to his head, and Yeosang didn’t know if that was insensitive or not. He felt too sick to think about it. 

He sighed, leaning his head back against the wall, some of the adrenaline fading a little. He swallowed another wave of sick. Maybe talking would distract him from… everything. “It just… sucks.” 

Wooyoung was quiet. 

Yeosang sighed, bringing his hands up to press against his eyes. “It’s fine,” he muttered. “I just wish that if I wasn’t going to be able to keep it, I wouldn’t have had it to begin with.” 

The voices were twice as loud, now that he remembered what silence felt like. The nightmares twice as real and vivid. 

“It was better not to know what it was like.” 

Another long pause. “You’ve seriously lived like this for years?” 

And when Yeosang opened his eyes, peering through the dim room, Wooyoung looked… a sad disbelieving. Not quite pity, but more like he couldn’t believe anyone would keep their sanity. Strained and helpless. 

Yeosang swallowed, not used to the look. Seonghwa got close to it, but still not quite. “Yeah…” 

“You just… don’t sleep? Just walk about with things whispering in your ear?” he demanded, eyes strained. 

Yeosang shrugged slowly. “It wasn’t as hard when I didn’t remember what it was like without it.” Now the silence almost seemed to mock him. 

Wooyoung was silent, but continued to stare at him. 

Yeosang figured he was going to leave at some point, but he remained seated on the ground in the dark with Yeosang. Yeosang wasn’t used to people sticking around to witness the aftermath. 

“Are all the visions that… gruesome?”

Wooyoung’s voice was almost shaking, as if he- 

Yeosang suddenly realized everything Wooyoung had been hinting at since he arrived. He sat up slowly. “Wait, you… you saw… my dream?” Part of him felt violated. Those were his dreams. Most of him just felt… sorry. Regretful. Wooyoung shouldn’t have had to see those things. 

No one should. 

Wooyoung, however, just looked sad. “Yeah… Somnokinetic, it’s… part of the deal, I guess. I  _ can  _ force my way into dreams, but I just- sometimes I just see them if there are strong emotions with it.” He rubbed the side of his neck. “I’ve seen a few of yours. The… the  _ bad  _ ones. This one cut off so quickly, though, I got worried.” 

Yeosang felt like this was something he should have been told. Or maybe they thought he’d figure it out. Maybe they didn’t think it that big a deal. 

But knowing that Wooyoung… Wooyoung had now seen those images… Seonghwa only stopped them, he didn’t know the things that Yeosang saw, but Wooyoung... he knew now. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had more than a handful of visions that didn’t result in someone dying.” 

Silence. Yeosang almost thought Wooyoung had slipped away in the dark. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Yeosang jumped a little, but frowned. “For what?” 

Wooyoung was still for a moment before he shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just… It sucks. Every mental class I’ve ever met has such shitty luck. It’s not fair. They’re given abilities that should be the coolest or most useful, and all it ever does is make their lives hell.” He shook his head sharply. “Not a single one has ever deserved it. You don’t deserve this…. I’m sorry we couldn’t stop it.” 

Yeosang let go of a small breath, feeling his eyes burn and his stomach churn. “It’s fine, it’s… it’s fine.” He could learn to forget what it felt like to sleep peacefully, he could move past the sensation of quiet and relearn to shove away the whispers. Life would continue on-

“You know… it’s okay if it’s not okay.” 

Yeosang froze, his heart skipping a beat. 

Wooyoung stared, eyes unfairly calm. “It’s… it’s shitty. It’s awful and unfair and horrific, the things that you’re forced to go through. I’ve seen… I’ve only witnessed a handful, and I…” He swallowed. “I don’t know how you stay sane. So, it’s  _ okay  _ if you’re upset that we can’t stop it. It’s completely fair for you to feel robbed.” 

Yeosang stared, mouth dry, something bubbling in his chest. 

And for the second time, Yeosang cried. 

~~~~~~~

Yeosang gained back his strength, even if the shadows under his eyes returned with a vengeance. Seonghwa stared at him with guilt, until Yeosang told Hongjoong to convince him that it wasn’t his fault. 

It ended with Yeosang hugging him tightly, thanking him for everything, even as Seonghwa apologized again for what had happened. But afterwards, Seonghwa had looked lighter. Yeosang was glad because no one on this earth could blame him. 

None of them had known it could happen. 

It still felt like going cold turkey after a drug intake. With consequences that were apparently reminiscent of such. 

“Hyung,” he heard Jongho murmuring to Hongjoong one night as he passed his room, heading to bed. “I think we have to do something about it.” There was an iron bar from the basement being twisted nervously in his hands, easy as puddy. “I know he was bad when he got here, but I think he’s getting worse. He’s not  _ dealing  _ with it well. Wooyoung says he keeps having nightmares that are way too strong.” 

Yeosang paused, truly not meaning to eavesdrop, but… 

Hongjoong was silent, and Yeosang could almost imagine the sigh in his chest. 

“If this goes on, he’ll probably wind up worse off than you did.” 

Yeosang’s chest punched in as Hongjoong sighed, as if in defeat. “I at least had an ability I could learn to control. Yeosang’s seems to be completely out of his hands, and that makes this difficult. We could limit the amount we let Seonghwa mute him, but we don’t know where the line is. And…” 

Another sigh. Yeosang stared at his feet, stomach churning. He hadn’t meant for everything to turn into this. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed, and he could imagine Hongjoong running hands through his hair. “I don’t know what to do, Jongho. Maybe I could try and do something, but I’ve never tried to do anything that delicate to someone’s abilities-” 

“Well-” 

Jongho cut in, and Hongjoong stopped for a moment, both of them quiet for a moment before Jongho breathed out harshly. 

“What if we asked one of the suits?”

Yeosang could practically see Hongjoong recoil. No one wanted those suits around anymore than they already were- which was not often. Yeosang wasn’t quite sure of the details, but Hongjoong more than the others seemed to despise them. 

Yeosang just hated anyone who would just throw the eight of them together with nothing but themselves, simply for things outside of their control. 

“We aren’t-” 

“They would know more than we do,” Jongho said firmly. “About his ability specifically. Maybe they could think of a safer-” 

“You think any method they had would be  _ safe _ ?” Hongjoong demanded, voice dropping in disgust. “We’d do better to just cut Yeosang open ourselves.” 

Yeosang flinched, a violent image flashing in his mind, but it was broken apart by Hongjoong sighing quietly. 

“Sorry,” he practically whispered. “That- I don’t trust the suits. We have to deal with it on our own, alright?”

“Yeah, hyung… I get-” 

“What are you doing?” 

Yeosang jumped so violently, his feet slipped, sending him crashing into the wall with a loud bang that echoed through the steel hall. 

Wooyoung stared, hands raised in defense, eyes wide in concern. 

A moment later, and Hongjoong exited with Jongho, frowning. Yeosang stared at Wooyoung, trying not to breathe too heavily. 

“Sorry, hyung,” Wooyoung said, slowly looking away from Yeosang. “Yeosang’s a scaredy cat. Can’t even play hide and seek without jumping.” 

Hongjoong frowned, and Wooyoung just threw him a tight grin, taking Yeosang’s hand and tugging him back down the hallway. Yeosang’s hands were shaking a little. 

He let out a slow breath, expecting Wooyoung to drag him into the living room and demand to know whatever details Yeosang was hiding. 

But he simply twirled him down the hall, both of them ducking into Wooyoung’s room, the door sliding closed behind them, and suddenly Yeosang was standing in the middle of the room while Wooyoung frowned at him. 

Not in curiosity, but in concern, as Yeosang’s heartbeat continued to pound on after the scare and… everything else. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly. 

There were rare, few times that Wooyoung was quiet. A few times when he sat with Yeosang, and the rare times the suits showed up. 

Yeosang swallowed, feeling like he was standing in the dark. “Is it really that bad?” he questioned quietly. 

Wooyoung frowned, stepping forward. “Is what?” 

Yeosang gestured to himself, expression pinching. It wasn’t guilt at his own shortcomings, but it was…frustrating. “Hongjoong and Jongho, they said that I was…” He rolled his lips. “It was getting bad.” 

Yeosang didn’t doubt that he looked like hell. But throughout his life he had been able to keep it to a level that people never noticed, and honestly… 

Yeosang was getting a little scared. Because everyone else was so worried, and he had never seen this as something to be worried about. These things were just a fact of life to him, something to accept. So why did everyone look like they were waiting for something to snap? 

And it only increased when Wooyoung’s brows loosened into something less like concern and more like… 

Something else. Something quieter. 

“Yeosang…” He swallowed, looking ready to say something, and then he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeosang, I’ve… I’ve seen… the things that you’ve seen.” 

His stomach dropped sickenly, as if did everytime he thought of Wooyoung sharing those images that haunted him. 

Wooyoung’s eyes were dimmed and sad. “And it’s only a  _ handful  _ of the things that you’ve been seeing… for  _ years _ . Night after night.” He winced. “The mental taxation that takes on a person… The way it affected me in just those few instances… It really is unbelievable that you can operate the way you do.” He gestured to Yeosang carefully, helplessly. “So, I think it’s justified that it takes its toll. In whatever way that happens to occur. Be it exhaustion, irritability, or something else entirely.” 

Yeosang’s mouth was dry, but he didn’t bother to wet it. “So the answer is yes.” 

Wooyoung’s expression was strained. “Yeosang-” 

“I don’t know what to  _ do _ ,” he murmured in frustration, covering his eyes with the heels of his palms, feeling them sting. “I don’t  _ know _ , Wooyoung, I just- I’m so fucking  _ tired  _ and I don’t know what to  _ do _ . They say it’s so bad, but I don’t know what they want me to  _ do  _ about it.” 

Yeosang had never had the luxury of options. He was given this ability, now it was his burden to bear. But the slight reprieve in his nightmares, in the constant whispers- it had given him a moment of peace in the storm he had been trying to brave. 

It made him selfish. 

It made him just want to stop. 

It made him want to live a life where he wasn’t plagued with horror he never asked for. 

He just wanted to  _ sleep _ .

“I-” 

Yeosang didn’t look up, too afraid that moving would make the pressure behind his eyes release. 

“I’ve been… I mean, sort of ever since that first night, I’ve been… thinking about something. That might help. If you want to try.” 

Yeosang stilled, not moving, head bowed. “What?” he asked, voice thick. “The only thing that ever worked was muting my powers, and obviously, that’s off the table.” 

“Well… the issue with Seonghwa is that he  _ stopped  _ your ability.” Wooyoung said it quietly. Almost as if afraid of frightening him off. “He cut off the supply completely, and that hurt the source. But… what if, instead of stopping your ability, I just…  _ filtered  _ it. Let it run its course, but filter it out.”

Yeosang looked up, frowning, feeling his eyes itch with irritation that threatened to fall down his cheeks. “What does that mean?” 

Wooyoung gestured to a desk (identical to the one in Yeosang’s room, in all their rooms), but rather than laying empty, his was filled with books and papers and vials of glowing blue liquid. 

“I’m somnokinetic,” he said quietly as Yeosang examined the spread. “And, yeah, that means I can wake people up and put them to sleep, etcetera. But the main aspect of my abilities lies in dreams, not sleep.” 

Yeosang turned, frowning slightly. “You can control dreams?” 

Wooyoung nodded. “It’s not hard. I used to do it for fun, just to piss off Jongho when he was having a nice dream about winning a competition or something. Putting people to sleep is harder.” He waved a nonchalant hand. “But controlling your dreams isn’t what I’m talking about. Because what you’re seeing in your dreams aren’t actually  _ dreams _ . They’re visions. And that’s a different story.” 

He stepped around Yeosang, walking to the desk. Yeosang followed a step behind him. 

“The thing with magic class… is that it has a lot more flexibility with what you can accomplish with your ability. The lines are blurred more than the finite, cut-and-dry bounds of physical and mental classes. If you can manage to figure out how to finagle it, you can do it as a magic class.” 

He picked up a large book with no title, examining the blank spine. “Seonghwa’s muting is finicky- the limits of what he can stop and what he allows bounces all around the place. The effect his muting has- it all depends on his moods and how powerful he’s feeling.” 

He flipped the book open, turning chunks of pages until he was near the back. The pages with filled with writing and drawing of diagrams that were carefully labeled. Almost like a field journal. 

“I… I’ve never truly tested my limits. I know certain things I can do, not necessarily the extent of what I can’t. I’ve messed around with the others, controlling and entering their dreams, examining them from afar, seeing what exactly I’m manipulating- whether it’s the source or the result.” 

Yeosang peered over his shoulder at the handwritten notes surrounding the diagram of a brain. “For a magic class, it seems like you have it down to a science.” 

Wooyoung scoffed, looking over his shoulder in mock offense. “Magic is just unexplained science. If you want to grow your magic, you need to have a scientific approach. Because of this-” he tapped the page- “I think I have a way to filter out those visions you’re having.” 

Yeosang winced. “You keep saying filter. I’m not enjoying the mental images that brings.” 

Cutting Yeosang open themselves… 

“A better word would be ‘reroute,’” Wooyoung acquiesced, setting the book down. He reached for a vial of glowing blue liquid. “Do you know what this is?” he asked. 

Yeosang frowned. “Something that puts people to sleep? You threw it on San that one time.” 

“It’s Sleep,” Wooyoung said. “The physical, finite form of Sleep. That I pulled from other people.” He shook it, making the liquid slosh. “Do you know how I get it?” 

Yeosang didn’t really want to know. ‘Magic’ was moving closer and closer to mad science by the second. But he shook his head slowly. 

“Pulling dreams,” Wooyoung said quietly. He held out his hand. “Watch.” 

Yeosang stared, anxiety welling in his throat. But Wooyoung didn’t even reassure him. Simply wiggled his fingers in an inviting gesture, a small, hopeful smile on the corner of his lips. Yeosang knew it would put him to sleep. He had seen it do the same to San. Was Wooyoung hoping to induce a vision or something? 

But Yeosang really didn’t have anything to lose, did he? Wooyoung had already seen the visions before, what was one more time? 

He held out his hand, hating how it shook a little, and placed it in Wooyoung’s cool fingers that curled around it gently, guiding it forward. He lifted the vial and slowly tilted it over the back of his hand. 

Yeosang winced when a single drop of blue hit his skin, the liquid colder than he expec-

He was standing in a green field of grass, wildflowers swaying in a gentle breeze. Yeosang whipped around, his breath echoing around him- 

_ Caw! _

His eyes jerked upward at the deafening crow, and he saw a massive hawk racing across the sky, its wings beating once to bring it higher, and Yeosang felt the blast of wind as if it were a hurricane passing throu-

Wooyoung smiled at him sympathetically, hands around his waist as Yeosang blinked back to reality. “Sorry. Probably should have made you sit first.” 

Yeosang straightened, feeling like he had just been ripped from a deep sleep that seemed to have lasted only seconds. He swallowed, throat like sandpaper. “What-” 

“Dreams,” Wooyoung reminded him. “This one was from San, a few days ago.” 

So Yeosang had been asleep. But placed in another’s dream. “So you think if you put me to sleep with that, I won’t dream the visions?” 

“No,” Wooyoung said regrettably, voice heavy as he winced. “If you sleep deep enough, these dreams don’t cancel out your own. And, I’m afraid that would probably put you in the same position Seonghwa did, even if it did succeed in blocking yours.” 

“Then  _ what _ ?” Yeosang demanded desperately, yet another solution snatched away. “What use is a fucking science lesson, when it looks like you  _ still  _ don’t have an aswer?” 

Wooyoung’s expression was surprisingly calm, making Yeosang feel like a child throwing a fit compared to his silence. Yeosang turned away, scrubbing at his eyes again to push the emotions back down. 

“My solution is something that may not work, is my point,” He said quietly. “But if you’re willing to try, I am as well. It might be a little invading in terms of privacy.”

Yeosang looked up, expression defensive. “What do you mean ‘invading’?” 

Wooyoung sighed gently, as if trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Okay, so basically, what we’re gonna be dealing with is this: I can basically make these-” He shook the Sleep in a glass- “out of your dream. I would enter your dreams- your  _ visions- _ but filter them away into vials before- or very soon after- they reach your subconscious.” 

Yeosang stared at the flask, wetting his lips silently. “So… you would take them away?”

“Only after they were manifested,” Wooyoung assured him. “Your ability would still be in use, but I would, essentially, catch the dreams before they haunt you.” He looked back at the book on the desk. “I haven’t figured a way I could stop the voices, yet. But I think sleep is a little more important at the moment.” 

Yeosang honestly didn’t believe what he was hearing. It felt like having Seonghwa touch his hand all over again, his mind switching off into a buzz of static. The whispers were a nuisance and an annoyance, but compared to the nightmares that were stealing his sanity… 

Wooyoung could potentially stop the dreams. 

“What would it need?” Yeosang whispered. “Seonghwa had to touch me while I slept. Would you?” 

“To extract dreams, yes,” Wooyoung said, wincing. “Just controlling them, I don’t need to, but to take them away, I would at least need to be in the room with you. If that isn’t-” 

“It’s fine,” Yeosang said quickly. “It- That’s fine. I don’t care.” 

And he really truly didn’t. 

Something fluttered in his chest. 

~~~~~~

Wooyoung had shared a lot of beds in his time at the compound. None of them were quite so stiff as he and Yeosang. 

“Okay,” Wooyoung said, settled across from Yeosang, their faces a foot apart as they tried to occupy space as far from each other as possible. “You good?” he questioned, because, honestly, Wooyoung couldn’t tell if the strain around his eyes was from weeks of no sleep or fear at what was happening. 

Yeosang swallowed, fingers twisted in the sheets between them. “What if it doesn’t work?” He whispered, voice a tinge of scared that wasn’t usual. “What do I do then?” And it seemed so fucking strange that Yeosang was looking to him for reassurance. Wooyoung was not Seonghwa, he was not Hongjoong.  _ He  _ wasn’t the one people looked to for reassurance. 

But it was just the two of them, and there was no one else to do it. 

One thing Wooyoung had learned over the months: Yeosang was desperate for  _ something _ . Be it peace, change, control, help- whatever it was, he was desperate to have someone give it to him, after he was practically taunted with a promise of it before. And the fall out from before would likely be tame compared to what might happen if Wooyoung’s solution didn’t work. 

Wooyoung didn’t want to the thing that broke Yeosang. 

Not after seeing him vibrant. 

“We’ll panic about that once we know we need to, alright?” He managed a weak smile that he was sure Yeosang saw straight through, likely providing no real comfort. Just a weak lie to hide behind. 

But even though he didn’t need to in order to visit his dreams, Wooyoung wrapped a hand around Yeosang’s tightly. 

Yeosang glanced at it, then up at Wooyoung, eyes an odd mixture of scared and… almost confused. 

Wooyoung squeezed the hand because… well, why not? 

“Do you want me to help you fall asleep?” he questioned quietly, eyes tracing Yeosang’s tense expression. 

Yeosang swallowed, eyes still glued to Wooyoung’s hand circling his. “No,” he murmured. “No, I can…” He trailed off, and Wooyoung just nodded. 

“Just sleep.” 

Surprisingly, within a few minutes, Wooyoung felt the familiar waft and wane of sleep emanating from him. He felt six different signatures around the compound- from everyone but himself and Yunho (who was likely still playing his games, despite Seonghwa’s urges for him to fall asleep). 

Yeosang’s was quicker than most- second only to Hongjoong’s, which Wooyoung could feel from across the compound. He had researched a little, and there were some things to do with amplified reach with mental classes, and the power within their sleep. Not important at the moment. 

Wooyoung sat up a little, keeping his hand in Yeosang’s. 

While his eyes still held the dark rings, they were no longer so accented by the strain of insomnia. Wooyoung knew the things that sleep could do for a person- taking years and weights off of them that turned them into completely different people. 

The closest he had seen Yeosang seem like this was those precious weeks before the muting began to take its toll. 

None of them had had it very easy with their abilities. All of them came with downfalls in one way or another, but everyone like them knew: mental classes were in a category of their own. Maybe their rarity was due to the strain that came with being mental class. 

Maybe whatever asshole assigned them these abilities had an ounce of pity and only made a few suffer. 

But the moment you met a mental class… you knew it was an entirely different ball game. 

Before Yeosang, Hongjoong was the first mental class Wooyoung had ever met. And it was… 

In a similar way to what he witnessed from Yeosang’s visions, it was terrifying. 

So if Wooyoung could be someone who could potentially lift some of that weight- who could act as some sort of relief, like Seonghwa did… 

Like Seonghwa always did… 

Wooyoung closed his eyes, his unoccupied hand lifting up slightly, as he felt the familiar tug of the current that ran through every person’s subconscio-

Wooyoung stood in darkness, glancing around carefully. It was a black abyss of nothing, but he didn’t panic. It simply meant Yeosang hadn’t reached REM, yet. Or, in his case, he hadn’t gotten any vision. 

Wooyoung turned in a circle, humming to himself. Yeosang mind had a stronger foundation than most oth- 

The world exploded into color, buildings and ground taking shape underneath and around him. Wooyoung turned around and saw a skyscraper burning, pieces of it tearing off and falling into a crowd of hundreds standing at the bottom, the heat of it reaching even so far away. 

He saw black dots falling from the building- people jumping to escape in futile attempts to save their own lives. Half of the structure caved in, sending embers racing into a smoke-black sky as more burning wreckage fell into the crowds that were run on the ground. 

Wooyoung stared in horror as his stomach twisted violently, everything about him feeling dirty and exposed, as if he were standing inside flames that burned- 

“You shouldn’t stare for so long.” 

Wooyoung whipped back around, his back heated with the flame as he came face to face with Yeosang. 

Well. Dream-Yeosang. His subconscious.  _ Well _ , more accurately the physical manifestation that put his subconscious  _ in  _ his dreams. 

They stood only a few feet apart, and Wooyoung suddenly remembered what he was doing here: stopping Yeosang from seeing the horrors behind them every night. 

Yeosang’s expression was startlingly apathetic, given how these sights had him waking up screaming. He looked beyond Wooyoung, staring at the burning carnage with a deep sorrow that couldn’t exist anywhere but inside a person’s mind. 

Wooyoung pulled himself together, slapping himself. “Right. Sorry,” he whispered, lifting a hand. 

The scene flickered, and he opened his eyes outside of Yeosang’s dreams, holding a thin wisp of white between his fingers that flowed like seaweed in the ocean. He flipped over quickly, grabbing the flask on the nightstand and dropping the strand inside. 

It liquidized as it touched the bottom, glowing a gentle blue. 

Wooyoung breathed out quietly, rubbing at his eyes. 

Would Yeosang have multiple visions in a night? Or would stopping one be enough to give him rest? 

Wooyoung closed his eyes. And stood among darkness. 

He turned, frowning. He waited. 

Color exploded around him. He blinked, and he was standing in the middle of a bedroom, riddled with posters and homework and two skateboards shoved in the corner with skate gear. He frowned, hands trailing the soft covers on the bed that was neatly made. 

“This isn’t a vision,” he murmured. It didn’t feel like those foreign signatures. It felt like a dream. A real one. 

“It isn’t.” 

Wooyoung turned and saw Yeosang sitting on the window sill, gazing around the room. 

Mental classes had a peace in their own minds that Wooyoung saw in no one else. Everyone else fluttered around their minds, acting as if they were a wonderland they had never visited before. Mental classes… Yeosang and Hongjoong… their mind was their second home. They moved about it with an ease and peace that Wooyoung hadn’t thought possible. Nothing could shake them. 

Yeosang’s expression still held the cool apathy as he trailed dull eyes around himself. 

“This is your room,” Wooyoung said quietly, gazing around it again. 

“Yeah,” Yeosang said quietly, not looking at Wooyoung. “Right before I left.” He turned behind himself, staring out through the blinds. “See?” 

Wooyoung didn’t need to see through the window to know what was happening down on the ground: the suit who had come to collect Yeosang was being shoved away as his mother drew him back, refusing to let her child be taken. 

A nice dream, but a dream nonetheless. 

“Will you have another vision tonight?” Wooyoung asked, staring at him. 

Yeosang turned to him slowly, almost eerily. His eyes were startlingly clear. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t. I usually don’t have more than one a night.” He was silent, unmoving. “You took that first one away?” 

Wooyoung nodded. 

Yeosang swallowed thickly, some of that apathy cracking away. “It was that easy?” 

Another nod. Yeosang rolled his lips. 

“ _ Thank you _ .” 

Wooyoung walked over slowly, wrapping his arms around him, and Yeosang leaned into his shoulder, fingers gripping his arms tightly, shaking in Wooyoung’s hold. 

Down below, Wooyoung watched Yeosang’s mother embrace dream-him, the suit long gone. 

Here, in his dream, Yeosang cried for the third time, Wooyoung hugging him tight enough to make him forget it was even a dream. 

~~~~~~

Yeosang blinked awake, and felt like… 

Like… 

Wooyoung was asleep, curled up on his pillow, breathing silently. Yeosang stared for a moment, remembering a brief flash of flames, and then nothing, and then… 

Home. Wooyoung.  _ Peace _ . He felt like he had  _ slept _ . He felt whole and grounded, not floating around waiting for his string to be cut, setting him free to float into nothingness. 

And Wooyoung’s hand was still clasping his gently. 

With Wooyoung asleep beside him, Yeosang curled in his bed and cried one more time. 

He would never be able to repay what these people had given him. 

~~~~~~~

“It’s… safe for you here?” Yeosang questioned, legs curled up on his bed. 

Wooyoung glanced away from the window. “What do you mean?” 

Yeosang shrugged, pulling his pillow into his lap. “I mean, it’s not dangerous for you to be in another person’s dreams?” 

Wooyoung shook his head. “Not at all. This is my playground.” He flicked a finger at the pillow and watched it burst into flower petals that fluttered into Yeosang’s lap. He jumped a little, but let out a quiet laugh as he ran his fingers through them, eyes lighter. 

“It’s not boring for you here? I don’t seem to have very many interesting dreams.” 

Most nights, Wooyoung popped into his old bedroom or somewhere in the compound. 

Wooyoung shrugged. “Better the boring ones than the weird ones. At least this one doesn’t have any tap dancing cats.” 

“Tap-” 

“Don’t ask,” Wooyoung sighed, shuddering. “But your dreams are nice. Especially compared to what we were dealing with before.” 

He glanced over, Yeosang staring down at the flower petals with a far away look. “Yeah,” he said quietly. His lips twitched into an almost-smile. “Yeah, it is better.” 

Wooyoung stared at the small smile, wondering if there was a time when Yeosang had done this more. 

The bed beneath him fractured into petals, Yeosang crying out as he fell to the ground, picking himself up and glaring at Wooyoung who simply snorted behind his hand, apologizing. 

“It was an accident, I promise!” He snickered. 

Yeosang threw a handful of petals at him. “Playground, my ass,” he muttered, dusting them off of his clothes. 

Wooyoung stared, smile turning almost wistful. “And you’re okay with it, too?” 

Yeosang looked up from an annoying petal stuck in his waistband, frowning. “Okay with what?”

“Not seeing your visions,” he said quietly, drawing one leg up. “It doesn’t make you… I don’t know, feel weird?” 

Yeosang stared at the thick padding of petals beneath his feet. “I don’t,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen a single vision that I was able to prevent in the slightest. And even if I could…” He shook his head, eyes falling closed. “I don’t want to see them,” he whispered. “Maybe, one day, I might be brave enough to see them again, but for now… I can’t.” 

Wooyoung had come to the conclusion that Yeosang had an odd relationship with his ability. Most people fell into one of two extremes: acceptance or despising. 

Most started in the latter and ended in the former (Hongjoong, Jongho, Seonghwa), but everyone had some sort of love-hate with their abilities, depending on how destructive they were. 

Wooyoung himself had only seen his as an irritant and an invasion of privacy, especially when nightmares plagued them and he was basically forced to watch or change them. But he had learned to manipulate his abilities to best suit him, and he had made peace with that. 

Yeosang… it almost seemed like he was saving his ability. Putting it on hold for later, when he would be strong enough to handle it. He spoke about it with disgust, but with an air of peace. Like he knew that no matter what he did, he would hate it, so why bother? 

It was complex in a way that Wooyoung didn’t think he was capable of understanding. 

All he knew was that when you went down the left hallway, down the the very end, you would open it up and find Wooyoung’s little lab, as San called it. Filled with his concoctions and experiments with Sleep he had done, dozens of shelves filled with vials of half-tampered substances. 

If you went through a door on the other side, you would find a storage closet cleared out of everything but dozens of bottles of sleep, each labeled with a date. 

All he knew was that he offered to throw them out, but Yeosang asked him to keep them. Just in case. For a ‘what if’. For later. For a time when Yeosang was strong enough, desperate enough, willing enough to go back and look at them. 

All he knew was that Yeosang hated his ability, but he didn’t reject it. 

All he knew was that Yeosang seemed to have made a peace with himself, and that was really the only thing people like them could ever hope for. 

All he knew was that he was glad he was able to supply that. 

~~~~~~~

Yeosang woke up. Naturally. Without a dream or vision to force him into consciousness. 

He blinked up at the dark roof. Turned onto his side. 

Wooyoung still slept soundly beside him, a little bit of drool on the pillow, but not even enough to try teasing about. His hair was fluffed from rubbing his face into the fabric, and his cheek was pink from pressing against the pillow. 

Yeosang wasn’t used to waking up with people around. Usually, if someone was present, he was yelling for them to stay back. 

Yeosang wondered if Wooyoung regretted him coming to the compound. Him, with his projecting horrors that he could barely contain. Wooyoung, who was forced to watch them- 

Who chose to watch them. 

Even when he had a choice. Not because it helped or because it did anything. But because… 

Yeosang didn’t know why. Didn’t understand why Wooyoung would watch them, but it was… It was strange. When Yeosang had woken up with images of bodies falling in his mind, there was now someone else who knew exactly what kind of horror he had seen. 

Wooyoung knew. And maybe he didn’t understand. Maybe he was just looking at these like someone watched a thriller movie, jumping at all the right moments, but… 

Yeosang really didn’t give a shit. 

Someone finally fucking understood. Someone had finally stood beside him and watched with him. His eyes were not the only ones shown the terrifying future. 

And instead of making him want to shed even more tears, it built something in his chest. 

Something warm where only cold fear had once resided. Something that had kicked out and scrubbed out all the terror and apprehension, leaving only…. 

Something. Something warm. Something undeniably Wooyoung. 

Yeosang was used to being vulnerable, sitting in the aftermath of his visions with raw skin and tender emotions that ached in the darkness. He was not used to someone being there, poking and prodding and observing. 

And, yet, somehow, Yeosang would take the prodding over the aching loneliness that the darkness brought with it. 

In this darkness, Yeosang did not lay alone. He stared at Wooyoung for a few moments, feeling the little ripples of sleep that emanated from him at times. Letting go of a tired breath, Yeosang dropped his head back onto the pillow, scooting forward until their knees bumped. 

Yeosang closed his eyes, so close he could feel the warmth of Wooyoung’s body heating himself as he settled back in, letting Wooyoung’s ability lull him back into sleep. 

Wooyoung lifted an arm, laying it across Yeosang’s waist, a solid, grounding weight for the nighttime darkness. 

~~~~~~

“Yeosang!” 

Yeosang turned, blissfully ignorant, as Wooyoung raced passed him, grabbing his arms and forcing the other in front of him as a shield, Yeosang stiffening slightly as he caught sight of the full grown rhino barreling towards them.

Well, towards Wooyoung. Yeosang was an unfortunate casualty, as he always was. 

San turned back into himself with a flash before he crashed into them, all three of them going tumbling to the ground, Yeosang crying out in annoyance as they hit, smacking Wooyoung’s neck and face and whatever else he could reach. 

“Leave- me- out of your stupid- petty- fight,” he demanded, delivering a few blows to San as well until both boys were off of him and allowing him to stand. He dusted himself off, eyes narrowed dangerously. 

Eyes that were no longer rimmed with dark circles and strained with hidden horrors that only he knew. 

Well, now it was him  _ and  _ Wooyoung. 

~~~~~~

Wooyoung had, over time, gotten faster at pulling away the dreams before they could even fully manifest in Yeosang’s mind. At the first burst of color, the vision was already safely held between Wooyoung’s fingers, placed in its jar, and Wooyoung would take a moment (only a moment) to observe Yeosang’s gentle face, searching for signs of immediate distress, before he would enter back into the dreamscape. 

Sometimes, Yeosang didn’t dream at all. Sometimes, it was fantastical dreams- like floating in space or living in a jungle. And sometimes, they were normal dreams where he was at the compound but everyone walked on the ceiling. 

Yeosang was always there- seated on chairs, in trees, floating in the air- watching Wooyoung with an odd expression he still couldn’t place. It was gentle, though, whatever it was. 

“You probably don’t have to keep coming back in,” Yeosang told him, voice low and even. “I never have more than one vision.” 

Wooyoung just shrugged. “I just want to make sure.” 

Yeosang didn’t try to stop him, turning his head far enough he thought Wooyoung couldn’t see the way his lips twitched.

There was a period of normalcy that almost seemed to throb with warning. 

And one night, Yeosang had bolted awake, Wooyoung already sitting up after the blast of sleep energy that crashed into him from the other, the speed with which it came and went dizzying. 

All Wooyoung caught was the familiar hallways of the compound and the bright crimson that painted them before his attention snapped to Yeosang as he tried to throw himself off the bed. Wooyoung surged into action, catching him and holding him back. 

“Hey,  _ hey _ ,” Wooyoung said quickly, quiet and gentle as Yeosang looked at him, eyes wide and blank with terror. “Yeosang-” He squeezed Wooyoung’s arm until Wooyoung was sure it was going to break. He grasped the hand gently. “Yeosang,  _ calm down _ , what-” 

“I had another one,” he breathed quickly, terrified eyes locked onto Wooyoung as he shook violently, voice vibrating. “I- The visions, it- I- You guys-” 

He shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes that never fell. Horror painted across his pale face, and Wooyoung reached out, one hand cupping his cheek gently. 

Yeosang gripped his wrist gently, as if afraid to break it. He blinked, expression twisted in agony, and tears streaked down his cheeks, wetting Wooyoung’s hand. 

“ _ You were all dead _ ,” he breathed, voice breaking as his shoulder shook. “All of you, you- you were  _ gone- _ ” 

Wooyoung hushed him quietly, frowning because he had already removed one vision of knives and blood. Yeosang had never had a second one. 

“Calm down,” he murmured, stroking his cheek. “Give me one second, Yeosang,” Wooyoung whispered, hand on his cheek shifting until it touched his forehead. 

Wooyoung could feel the spike and fall of the remnants of his sleep. The impressions and memories his brain had stored of them. He found the blank waves where he had taken the vision. Then the REM cycle of a dream, and the furious spike and fall of something not a dream, but certainly not a vision. 

Wooyoung breathed a sigh of relief as he brushed the tears from his cheeks. “Yeosang-” 

His hand crushed his wrist. “You were  _ gone _ , Wooyoung-” 

“Yeosang, it wasn’t a vision,” he murmured carefully, eyes meeting Yeosang’s wide ones. “It  _ wasn’t  _ a vision,” he assured him firmly. “It was just a nightmare. Just a regular bad dream. It wasn’t real, and it isn’t  _ going  _ to be.” 

Yeosang stared, eyes glassy as he shook his head blankly, as if he didn’t understand. 

Wooyoung’s other hand grasped Yeosang’s rubbing gentle circles into the pulsepoint at his wrist. He stared at the other with sad eyes because the only type of horror Yeosang knew was the kind that eventually came true. 

The dark room was silent around them, echoing only with Yeosang’s labored breaths. 

“It was a regular dream,” Wooyoung whispered hoarsely, brushing his cheek comfortingly. “It  _ isn’t  _ going to happen, understand me, Yeosang? What you saw was  _ not  _ a vision. Just images concocted by your mind, like any other dream you’ve had that never came true.” 

Yeosang swallowed, hand grasping at Wooyoung’s until he held his fingers tightly. “You’re sure?” he breathed roughly. “You’re absolutely  _ positive  _ it wasn’t a vision?”

Once more, Yeosang stared at him like a single word from Wooyoung had the power to break the fragile peace they had gathered. 

Wooyoung nodded slowly, feeling the weak tremors racing through the other’s muscles. “My jurisdiction is dreams, Yeosang. Your visions have a very different signature than  _ any  _ dream would ever have. The last thing you saw in your mind before you woke up was a  _ dream _ . I swear, Yeosang.” 

And Wooyoung had no expectations of Yeosang to simply nod and go back to sleep. 

So he was prepared when the adrenaline of horror faded, and Yeosang’s shoulders slumped as relief and aftermath rushed to the surface as more tears fell and he hugged Wooyoung hard enough to bruise, sobbing the horrors out into Wooyoung’s shoulder, weak hands gripping his shirt. 

Yeosang, who had never had a nightmare, other than the one that real life forced him to live. Who couldn’t physically understand that not every gruesome sight in his mind was something destined to be. Who cried because he had finally found his place here, and thought for a few terrifying seconds, that he was going to lose them. 

Yeosang, who had been living his life with only himself to witness the horrors of his mind. 

Wooyoung, who hadn’t ever intended to try and share that burden, but who found himself trying to take part of it regardless. 

Wooyoung rubbed his back, forcing warmth into the clammy skin as he reassured him, again and again, feeling each shiver that ran through Yeosang’s body. 

“It was just a nightmare… We aren’t going anywhere, Yeosang… Nothing is going to happen… We’re safe… We’re all safe.” 

Nightmares were a dime a dozen among the compound. Some more than others, some times more common than others. But what mattered was the amount it affected the others. Yunho rarely had nightmares, so his tended to be quite strong. Hongjoong, especially, could be having nightmares every night, and Wooyoung would never know if he didn’t check. They just no longer affected him. 

This nightmare had come and gone so quickly, Wooyoung was almost tempted to double check that it hadn’t been a vision, but he knew what he saw. 

This was a nightmare, nothing more. It was just one that had cut deep and quick. 

“We’re all safe, I can feel everyone sleeping, Yeosang. Everyone is okay.” 

Yeosang remained still against him. 

Wooyoung felt the moment that the tears ran out and the silence in Yeosang’s mouth turned to sleep, his body slumped against Wooyoung’s and the gentle rhythm of slumber creating its current around him.

Wooyoung felt a little sick, his mouth dry. He laid Yeosang back down on his pillow, tear tracks still shining on his cheeks that Wooyoung wiped away gently. 

Nightmares were the worst. Yeosang was always lost for a few moments, caught in the in-between of visions, sleeping, and waking. Wooyoung (who had grown accustomed to both of them fitting in the slightly-too-small bed) was always there to grab his hand, hoping to ground him in reality, assuring and reassuring that whatever terrible thing he saw (usually involving them at the compound) was not real. 

It would  _ not  _ happen. 

Yeosang always stared at him in disbelief, still unable to comprehend it, but he was getting better at regaining his bearings, nodding along with whatever Wooyoung whispered to him. 

“It’s okay, Yeosang, I promise.” 

“I believe you, I  _ know _ -” 

~~~~~~~

“You’re both assholes.” 

“ _ San’s  _ the asshole!” Wooyoung fought as he followed the annoyed Yeosang to the kitchen. “He’s the easiest person for me get ingredients from, but he’s so pissy and a wimp for pain that he never lets me! I just needed a  _ little  _ hornbill beak!”

“That beak is  _ attached _ to him, Wooyoung,” Yeosang reminded him, throwing an unimpressed glance over his shoulder. “What if I told you, I just needed  _ one fingernail _ ?” He scrunched his face in mock-pleading before losing it to sarcasm. “You’d be a wimp, too.” 

You’d think, as someone blocking Yeosang’s visions and everything else Wooyoung did for him, Wooyoung would have gained some extra points. Maybe catch a break now and then? 

Never. 

Not from Yeosang. 

Not when he was rested and happy and finally gaining the energy and will to be the person he wanted to be. 

~~~~~~

“Thank you.” 

Wooyoung brushed off the almost uncomfortably sincere gratitude as Yeosang stared at him across from their late night pudding after a nightmare that Yeosang didn’t want to sleep after. “It really isn’t an issue. It’s like it’s hard to do or anything.” He let a grin take his face, though. “Does this mean I’m your favorite now?” 

“No,” Yeosang said mercilessly, taking another bite of strawberry pudding. 

“Why  _ not _ ?” Wooyoung demanded, glaring, almost upsetting his chocolate cup. “Seonghwa hasn’t muted you in  _ months _ !”

“I don’t like him best because he muted my abilities, I like him because he’s nice.” 

“ _ I’m  _ nice!”

“He’s nicer.” 

Wooyoung slammed his head into the kitchen table, and Yeosang simply patted his hair gently- a sarcasm, a confidence, that he hadn’t had before. One he had been slowly building up with each night he slept through till morning. “You’re a close second, don’t worry,” he said with a barely contained smirk. Wooyoung swatted the hand away, Yeosang snickering around another bite of pudding. 

Wooyoung was secretly,  _ privately  _ growing to love it. 

~~~~~~

Wooyoung followed Yeosang into the kitchen. 

“I would just appreciate it if he could be a little more  _ understanding _ .” 

Yeosang gave him a faux-sympathetic look. “Like  _ you  _ are?” 

“I’m  _ so _ understanding! I stay up and listen to you all night!”

“You also made Yunho stay asleep so you could have the last cinnamon bagel.” 

Wooyoung threw his hands out. “He had already eaten three!”

“They’re  _ his _ , Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung threw a strawberry from the bowl on the counter at him, which he dodged, glaring angrily. “Waste another strawberry and I will-” 

The next one caught him directly in his teeth, bouncing off and leaving behind a little splash of red. And while Wooyoung expected a fully raging Yeosang to attack, his body prepared for such an assault, both of them stood in silence, staring in shock at each other. 

And then doubled over laughing. 

The kitchen was empty, but Wooyoung was sure if anyone walked in, they would think the two had lost their minds. 

Yeosang wiped away the little bit of red, and Wooyoung couldn’t believe he’d made such a shot, and when they finally managed to look at each other again, it welled back up again, and another round of snorts incapacitated them for a few moments. 

One thing Wooyoung had been noticing: along with clear eyes and a purer smile, Yeosang laughed more. He had heard a few chuckles before, and when Seonghwa was muting him, he’d get the chance to burst out a little bit. 

But now, with a long term solution, it almost seemed more genuine, following along with the confidence Wooyoung had seen building behind his crystalline eyes. 

Months later, and Yeosang’s abilities hadn’t rejected what Wooyoung was doing. There were barely any traces of the haunted face that had greeted them that first day in the hall. 

Yeosang’s face was bright here, scrunched in laughter, and Wooyoung lifted his eyes to look at him, his own laughter contained to his chest for a few moments, and then everything seemed to stop. 

Another item was added to the list of universal truths. 

That was the thing about the truths. Just because you didn’t always know what they were, didn’t mean they hadn’t always existed. Wooyoung had never in his life considered such a truth, but it slammed into his chest with force of one of Jongho’s fist bumps. Perhaps he had been faced with it before, but he hadn’t known it to be a truth to be acknowledged. 

It was a truth that, for Wooyoung, sparked a journey he could never prepare himself for. It opened parts of him he had closed off, and it opened up paths that most of them had thought would remain blocked.

Yeosang laughed, bright and genuine as he called Wooyoung a dumbass. 

There are few truths known to the world to be absolute. 

A few exist: The sky is blue, the Mental Class is rare, the earth revolves around the sun, a silk worm will make any potion triple its original strength… 

And Yeosang was beautiful. 


	2. Seonghwa and Hongjoong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright second chapter! Since it’s such a short story I decided to post the chapters closer to each other lol~  
(At first I wasn’t sure if the second chapter would be a continuation of the first or not, so I updated the tags~)   
But I hope you enjoy it, and thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter!  
This one’s a prequel, so don’t be confused!  
Happy readings!!  
-SS

Hongjoong dreamed of silence. First, and foremost, he dreamed for blessed silence against the constant onslaught of white noise that assaulted his every sense. 

Then, he dreamed of comfort.  _ Almost  _ most of all, he dreamed for an end to the cursed solitude he existed within, the cold pressure of loneliness setting a chill in his bones that never went away. 

The world was so fucking loud. 

Even here, in these steel walls, without another soul around for (as far as Hongjoong had been allowed to know) miles. 

The noise pounded against his head, even so far away. 

Fourteen years old and sitting in the middle of an empty compound meant to hold twenty. 

For all the voices pressing against his mind, it created an aching loneliness that Hongjoong had never imagined. He woke up alone, ate something, sat and tried to focus on blocking out the throbbing cacophony surrounding himself. Then he ate, slept, and repeat. 

His only company were the suits who checked in weekly to ensure he was still alive. 

“Hey, kid, how’s the insanity coming?” 

Hongjoong glared at the suit, hidden behind his sunglasses. 

“What- nothing?” he questioned, nudging Hongjoong with his boot. “Not even an angry threat?” Hongjoong glared. “Geez, at least the kids at the other compounds are entertaining. What exactly do you even do?” He tapped Hongjoong’s forehead roughly. 

_ Useless bastard _ . _ Probably defective.  _

Hongjoong shoved the hand away, feeling something dark bubbling inside of himself. The mocking, amusing pushes, that treated him like an animal in a zoo. Just an animal. No real purpose, just something they were forced to house and keep alive. 

The suit laughed, amused and so fucking smug. “Keep that up, kid, and you’ll spend another year alone here. Now, learn to play nice, alright? Or maybe we’ll decide you’d make a better lab rat for looking at those rare mental classes.” 

This was the threat that haunted Hongjoong: being taken away from the compound and shoved into some lab somewhere. A place usually reserved for criminals, but it was a very fine line. 

Mental classes were rare. The extent of their abilities, unknown. And here Hongjoong was, a helpless teenager with an attitude problem towards the suits, practically begging to be taken away. 

Here Hongjoong was, holding an ability that didn’t quite fall under any category. 

_ I’m sure our people would have oodles of fun figuring out what makes this keep ticking _ .  _ Maybe figuring what makes it  _ stop  _ ticking.  _

Hongjoong stared on with contempt, completely still. The suit scoffed. “Boring,” he muttered. “See you next week, kid.” 

And then more were brought. 

And Hongjoong was faced with two options: perfect those barriers or go insane. 

Everyone thought so  _ loud _ . Even if Yunho and Mingi and San were wonderful people who ended Hongjoong’s loneliness, they were so  _ loud _ . 

Out of pure survival, Hongjoong learned to dim the noise. 

Their thoughts were nothing like  _ Dumb freaks. Don’t know why we even bother keeping them alive if we aren’t using them.  _

_ Hyung looks so tired… maybe he isn’t sleeping.  _

_ Maybe if I whisper when I think, it will be better.  _

_ Should we all just give him space? Maybe distance will help.  _

_ Holy shit, that’s a big strawberry.  _

Bless their hearts, they tried. And Hongjoong appreciated them all so fucking much, but it usually came down to locking himself in his room until he coud dim their thoughts to background noise that would maybe rid him of the migraine so unrelenting, he couldn’t  _ move _ . 

But he got used to that pain quickly, just making it another part of the life he lived in this little compound. Even if the others still looked at him in concern, there was really nothing they could do. 

“It’s not something physically wrong, so I can’t help… I’m sorry, hyung.” Bless Yunho’s heart, he looked devastated, but Hongjoong just ruffled his hair lightly with a genuine smile. 

In all honesty, a little pain was worth the company it brought. 

He made a sort-of life that didn’t suck, provided no one started screaming mentally or having strong emotions that assaulted his walls like blunt forces against his skin. 

Some days were worse than others. Hongjoong just tried to roll with them as best he could, just a teenager suddenly handed something too big for himself. 

Part of rolling with it was just getting used to the thoughts. Another was gaining the strength to quiet them at will, with the right concentration. 

And the third… was Seonghwa. 

In terms of seniority, he came later than most of them, but in terms of the splash he made, he rivaled San sneezing upon introduction and turning into a beluga whale in the hallway. 

“Seonghwa,” he introduced in a flat voice that was trying for confidence. A seventeen year old kid, standing in front of them with thick leather gloves over his hands. “I can, uh… turn off powers, I guess.” 

_ Stay calm,  _ Seonghwa was practically screaming, making Hongjoong wince.  _ Stay calm, just… don’t freak out. They look nice, you won’t be-  _

Seonghwa’s control was spotty, apparently. At its core, his ability was only supposed to work with skin on skin contact. But being a magic class, its reach was a little shoddy if you didn’t have a hard lock on it. Meaning when Mingi went bounding up to him, wide eyed and eager to see what that meant, Seonghwa held his hands up, a quiet refusal on his lips.

_ Don’t touch me-  _

Hongjoong flinched at the mental yell making his mind ring. 

Mingi shuddered, as if shaking snow off of his shoulder, staring at his hands as he stood a foot from Seonghwa. Hongjoong watched as Mingi’s shape flickered between transparent and opaque, like a TV trying to catch a signal. 

“Holy shit,” Mingi muttered, turning to them, his body staying solidly visible. “I can’t turn invisible.” He did it again, flickering as he stepped away from Seonghwa, and finally his body disappeared completely as he succeeded in stepping out of Seonghwa’s rage- only another foot away. 

Seonghwa didn’t smile, his expression something pained and a little awkward as the others stared at him. Hongjoong couldn’t hear any distinguishing thoughts, just a static buzz of anxiety. 

“Alright, then,” Hongjoong said firmly. “Now that introductions are over, we’ll get him settled, and everyone can go back to what they were doing.” 

Seonghwa settled in… weird. Like he was still waiting for someone to come and tell him he could go home now. 

“Are you afraid of your ability?” Hongjoong asked as Seonghwa set his little bag down on his bed. He leaned against the doorframe. 

Seonghwa glanced at him almost nervously, but ultimately shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “But most people aren’t quite so… eager about it.” He stared at his bad, eyes hard. “I just didn’t expect it.” 

Hongjoong hummed, arms crossed loosely. “And what would you say if you were being truthful?” 

Seonghwa looked up sharply, eyes a terse defensive. “I think that if I was lying- which I’m not- it wouldn’t be any business of yours.” 

Hongjoong’s eyes traced to the gloves over his hands, and Seonghwa jerked them away, hiding them behind his back with a stony expression aimed at Hongjoong’s impassive one. 

“Do you have a problem with me?” Seonghwa asked shortly. “Because if you do, I’d appreciate it if you kept out of my head to exploit it.” 

“I don’t need to go inside of your head to see you’re shit at lying,” Hongjoong said flatly, not really appreciating his attitude. “And for the record, I never go digging in people’s heads. The only thing I’ve ever heard is whatever their subconscious is throwing out. And it’s impossible for me to block that entirely.” 

_ Don’t touch me _ . 

Despite the entirety of the room between them, Seonghwa’s thought whispered clearly, as if Hongjoong had been approaching rapidly. And despite the hostility he had been wielding like a weapon, the plea was so quiet, Hongjoong’s expression softened slightly. 

“Why don’t you want anyone to touch you?” Hongjoong questioned. 

“Stop-” 

“I’ve barely caught a single thought out of your head but that one,” Hongjoong informed him. “That says something, don’t you think?” 

Seonghwa closed his mouth, expression tight and almost cornered, as if Hongjoong had backed him against the wall with nowhere to go. 

“Taking someone’s ability doesn’t hurt them, does it?” Hongjoong asked. “Mingi was fine earlier. The briefing the suits gave us said nothing about it. Does it hurt you when people touch you?” 

Seonghwa was stiff as a board. “No,” he said quietly, almost a whisper. 

“Then why don’t you want people to touch you?” He asked again, softer this time. “Is it a moral thing- where you feel guilty for taking something that’s a part of them?” 

Seonghwa winced. “No.” And despite his reaction, Hongjoong could tell that it wasn’t a lie. 

“Then why-” 

“Why exactly do I need to tell you?” Seonghwa snapped, even if his voice almost failed. “It doesn’t matter. Unless you’re gonna touch me just to prove a point, it doesn’t matter, so can you leave me to unpack my stuff?” 

Hongjoong stared at him, eyes an odd mixture of stony and soft. 

For a week, Seonghwa resolutely refused to let others touch him. He kept his gloves on, and flinched when people like Yunho tried to show their natural affection. The affection that was the only thing keeping them sane in here. 

Hongjoong’s head was pounding worse than usual, the rapid flux of emotions and thoughts rushing around as people were upset and trying to offer comfort simultaneously. He forced his eyes opened as they ached against the dim lights. 

_ Don’t cry, San,  _ Yunho’s gentle thoughts sounded.  _ He didn’t mean it.  _

Hongjoong sat up. 

_ San reached out for Seonghwa, eyes bright as he asked him to come eat cheesecake with them, hand wrapping around Seonghwa’s arm lightly.  _

_ Seonghwa physically jerked away, tearing his arm out of San’s grip, stumbling away with eyes like glass shards.  _

_ “Don’t touch me.” A violent hiss, as if the touch had burned.  _

Hongjoong stood, ignoring how the change in position made blood pound its way through his head. 

Enough was enough. 

Hongjoong pounded on the door of Seonghwa’s bedroom. 

No answer. 

Hongjoong counted to five before knocking again, and when no response was given then, he pushed the door open (as if the suits would give them  _ locks _ ). Seonghwa shot up where he lay in bed, and Hongjoong, for the first time, saw him without his gloves on, a book held between his bare hands. 

He threw the book down, standing defensively. “I didn’t say you could come i-” 

“I don’t really give a shit,” Hongjoong said flatly, closing the door behind him. Seonghwa tensed, looking ready for a physical altercation. 

That was never Hongjoong’s style. 

“You’re hurting the people here,” Hongjoong said, voice like flint. “And that stops now.” 

“I  _ told them  _ not to touch me-” 

“Physical contact doesn’t hurt you or them,” Hongjoong snapped sharply, head throbbing at the volume. “That means you can take three fucking seconds to be kinder about how you refuse them.” 

_ Are the hyungs fighting?  _

Hongjoong shoved the excess thought away, trying to focus without blacking out from the headache. 

“So I’m expected to be like them and just let them hang off of me?” Seonghwa demanded. “I’m not allowed to have space even in my own fucking room?” 

“You’re expected not to make this place into  _ more  _ of a hell,” Hongjoong spat. “We’re  _ stuck  _ here, Seonghwa. Boo fucking hoo, if you can’t deal with the rest of the people here. We had a nice peace going on here before you started shitting on the people here. If it pisses you off that much, fuck off to the suits and tell them to put you somewhere else.” 

“You think that’s how it works?” Seonghwa scoffed. 

“No,” Hongjoong said flatly. “But I’m not going to let you try and stomp out whatever spark these people here created, despite everything. And if I see you trying to put it out again, you’re going to start seeing the suits as a fucking ally compared to me.” 

_ We should all go do something els-  _ Hongjoong shoved it away, blinking around the pain in his eyes. 

Seonghwa’s eyes were dark. “I don’t want them to tou-” 

“What is your fucking issue?” Hongjoong demanded, pain and anger mixing dangerously, storming forward a few steps, until only the curve of the bed separated them. “Do you hate touch so much? So much that you would try and take the one fucking thing the people here can get? If you’re going to stuck here for the rest of your fucking life, you can’t just try and find a common ground with them?” 

_ I’m not going to be stuck here.  _

“ _ Yes, you are _ !” Hongjoong snapped. Seonghwa’s anger flickered like Mingi’s invisibility, eyes widening. “Is that what your issue is? You’re still waiting for the suits to show back up and tell you there’s been a mistake?” he demanded. “You’re  _ never  _ getting out of here, Seonghwa! Every person here is going to be stuck here for the rest of their fucking lives, and you being an  _ ass  _ isn’t going to make it any easier!” 

Seonghwa took an angry step forward. “If you’re not going to be able to keep your mind to yourself-” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Hongjoong snapped, fists clenching. “You don’t have a right to get upset at people being unable to control their abilities. Who the fuck is there to try and teach us? Get your head out of your-” 

“Maybe you should teach yourself to control it,” Seonghwa snapped, another step shifting forward. “If you’re stuck here for the rest of your life, you should have plenty of down time.” 

His head pounded. 

“ _ Control it _ ?” he hissed, anger simmering and threatening to flare. “Like you can control  _ this _ ?” he demanded, closing the distance between them in a two steps. 

Seonghwa’s hand flew up, as if to block a blow, but Hongjoong grasped his bare hand. 

“Is thi-” 

Hongjoong used to play baseball. He knew what it felt like to have a metal bat slammed into the back of your head. Light exploding in front of his eyes before everything went dark, as if a black hole had sucked it up, everything falling into nothing. 

Hongjoong was falling. 

Something dark and… quiet. 

It was quiet. So very quiet, as if everything in the world was dead but him. 

As if- 

_ I killed him.  _

Someone was crying. 

_ Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to I’m sorry _

Hongjoong opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He tilted his head that had stopped throbbing, and saw Seonghwa curled with his back against the wall, his head hidden in his knees as he sobbed. 

That was… not something Hongjoong ever thought he would see Seonghwa do. And despite everything, his chest twisted. 

Hongjoong let out a small noise of discomfort as he shifted onto his side. 

_ He’s alive.  _

Seonghwa’s head jerked up. 

Hongjoong winced as he sat up, feeling oddly weighted, as if his equilibrium had been thrown around. “Of course, I’m alive,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “I think the better reaction would be: oh shit, my ability that mutes other abilities just shut down a human being.” 

Hongjoong sat up fully, turning to see Seonghwa staring at him, tear streaks still stained against his cheeks and eyes red. 

He didn’t look angry anymore. He didn’t look like an asshole. He looked like any other person here, at the mercy of forces they produced but had no hope of controlling. 

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing at his eyes. 

_ Get… San… Lunch…  _

Hongjoong frowned, blinking as the whispers of thoughts buzzed in and out, as if caught on a bad channel. He looked at Seonghwa, only a few feet from him. 

“You muted my ability,” Hongjoong said, tongue a little heavy. “You shut if off completely.” 

Seonghwa rubbed at his eyes quickly before nodding jerkily. 

For a moment, Hongjoong’s mind had been unable to perform all the functions it always did. And apparently, doing that hurt a  _ fucking  _ lot. 

But sitting here, just within the sphere of Seonghwa’s range (as Mingi had), Hongjoong felt like the thoughts around him were coming in through water- muffled and distorted slightly. Quiet. 

Hongjoong blinked, staring at his hands in a bit of awe. That was… new. 

Hongjoong looked up, and Seonghwa continued to stare in silent regret. “That doesn’t happen every time you touch someone to mute them, does it?” 

Seonghwa shook his head quickly. “No, I- I didn’t know- I thought-” 

_ You were dead.  _

“It was just an overload to my brain, I think,” Hongjoong muttered, rubbing at his forehead. “Too much at once.” 

“T-Taking it away… was too much?” 

Hongjoong gave him an unimpressed look. “You ever go from a rock concert to complete silence? Those rooms where it’s so quiet, people can only stay for a few minutes before they start losing it? Multiply it by thirty.” 

Seonghwa’s expression was horrified. 

Hongjoong searched his face for a minute. “It’s been a while since I’ve lost the voices completely.” 

His eyes flickered down to Seonghwa’s hands, gripping his knees tightly. 

Outside of the gloves, his fingers were slim and long, pale like his face. They had been warm, in the moment before Hongjoong lost consciousness. 

Seonghwa hid them behind his back again. “I’m sorry,” he said, all the anger and bravado of the past week lost to regret. “I-I didn’t think to keep my gloves-” 

“No one here told you to wear those gloves,” Hongjoong reminded him, feeling like he was talking to the younger ones, despite the fact he was sure Seonghwa was older than him. “None of us care if your ability accidentally discharges. At least you’re not accidentally turning into an insect everytime you sneeze, or crushing doorknobs.” 

Seonghwa swallowed thickly. 

“That doesn’t usually happen?” Hongjoong asked again. Seonghwa shook his head quickly. “Then why do you hate people touching you?” 

Seonghwa opened his mouth. Closed it. Tensed. Flickered his eyes away, as if checking for a quick exit. 

“Seonghwa.” 

His eyes flashed back to Hongjoong’s as if he had him pinned against the wall. 

Hongjoong didn’t feel anger anymore. He just felt pity. “No one here is forced to hide,” he said quietly. “Be it what you feel, what you want, who you are, or who you want to be. If your preference is to dance naked on tables during meal time, we don’t have the luxury to silence that. And if you say something… our policy is that there’s going to be  _ someone  _ to listen.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes were watery again. 

Hongjoong wondered… where along the way he forgot to give this speech. The others had gotten it the moment they arrived. How had it skipped Seonghwa? 

“So if you just don’t like being touched… that’s reason enough. But I need you to tell me  _ why _ . Even if it’s something insignificant.” Hongjoong settled on the floor, ready for a conversation. “One thing we don’t have the luxury of is hiding, Seonghwa. The world does enough of that for us.” 

_ I don’t… touch…  _

Even Seonghwa’s thoughts came through muffled, despite their proximity. Where Hongjoong’s ability should have been strongest, it was weakest. 

_ Please… don’t… I…  _

Seonghwa looked scared. Like he was trapped. Like he was running. Like he was being threatened. Hongjoong waited, eyes softened in pity. 

_ I don’t… hate.  _

His brow twitched, Seonghwa staring into his eyes, and Hongjoong realized- 

_ Please…. Just…  _

Hongjoong realized that Seonghwa couldn’t find the words to say. 

_ I just want… touch.  _

He was trying to project, eyes strained and fragile as Hongjoong stared. 

_ Just… me… please…  _

Hongjoong couldn’t make out a complete thought, just little bursts of static and whispers. But he wet his lips, taking the smallest leap of faith he could ever remember. 

Hongjoong lifted his hand, holding it between the two of them. 

Almost instinctively, Seonghwa flinched back. 

_ Don’t… me. Don’t…  _

_ Please… just… me…  _

Hongjoong didn’t move forward or backwards. Simply stared at Seonghwa with a heavy gaze. “Touch my hand,” he said quietly. 

“No,” Seonghwa whispered, shaking his head slowly. 

“You won’t hurt me,” Hongjoong said quietly. “Not now that I’m ready for it. Touch my hand, Seonghwa.” 

“I can’t.” 

Hongjoong moved forward slowly, the static of panic from Seonghwa’s mind dimming with each inch he took away. Seonghwa pushed himself against the wall, Hongjoong stopping close enough that Seonghwa could reach him without moving. 

“It won’t hurt anyone, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong assured him, the air around him still with an almost-silence. “I still don’t know why you don’t want to… but you can.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes dropped to Hongjoong’s hand, his own pale ones twisted around each other tightly. 

“You’re free to touch people here, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong assured him quietly. “Regardless of the reason you don’t… if you want to… you can.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes shimmered as he stared, his hands loosening around each other almost unconsciously. 

“We trust each other here, Seonghwa,” he murmured as Seonghwa’s hand slowly dislodged itself from its place being hugged against his chest. “I trust you. You can trust me.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered back up to Hongjoong’s face, shattered and crystalline, but his hand continued it slow trek towards Hongjoong’s. 

“No one here will ever hurt you.” 

Their fingertips barely brushed. The minds around him flickered. 

Seonghwa swallowed, closing his eyes as he suddenly jerked forward the last centimeter, their fingers tangling as Seonghwa shoved their hands together, clenching Hongjoong’s hand tightly. On instinct, Hongjoong returned the hold, both of them holding on unnecessarily tight. 

The minds around his shut off. 

The swirl of emotions and thoughts and whispers went completely silent. It felt like someone had just taken away one of his senses. Something that used to be so constant was suddenly gone, leaving him feeling unbalanced. Like someone had suddenly stuffed his head full of cotton balls. 

It was so quiet. But not painful. 

Almost… liberating. 

Seonghwa’s eyes were shut tight enough to crease his skin, expression twisted as slow tears forced their way out of his shut eyes. His hand shook in Hongjoong’s. His skin felt clammy against Hongjoong’s. 

His chest stuttered as Hongjoong watched him, something like fear and relief and apprehension shadowing his face. 

“Seonghwa… you aren’t hurting me.” 

Seonghwa only shut his eyes tighter, as if opening them would break something. His hand shook inside Hongjoong’s, and Hongjoong brought his other hand up slowly, curling it around the back of Seonghwa’s, grasping his hand in both of his own. 

Seonghwa’s breath stuttered, stopping completely for a moment before his other hand lifted to touch Hongjoong’s. His hands were soft, his fingers trailing across the back of Hongjoong’s hand, as if he were mapping it out. Feeling it for the first time. 

It was a tentative movement, and Hongjoong wondered what Seonghwa was thinking. It was so strange, sitting in this silence, not knowing. It felt… ordinary. 

Seonghwa’s hand reached his wrist, feeling the soft underskin of it, and then he kept the softest of touches brushing against his hand, as if he were a blindman being told to describe what he was feeling under his finger tips. 

His hands shook. 

Hongjoong watched in almost fascination, but it was overruled by a heavy weight in his chest as Seonghwa took a shaking breath that sounded more like an attempt to remain silent than anything else. 

Hongjoong grasped his other hand, holding it firmly, stroking the back of it gently with his thumb. Seonghwa’s eyes flew open, staring at Hongjoong with wide fear. 

Hongjoong never looked away, shifting their hands until he held Seonghwa’s completely in his own. 

Seonghwa jerked his hands away, holding them to his chest again as his breath came in short bursts that were slightly worrying. As if he had just been sprinting. As if something overwhelming was happening. As if he couldn’t stand the assault he had been placed under. 

He stared at his hands as if they had extra fingers. 

Hongjoong stared at him silently, watching as Seonghwa flexed his fingers, as if trying to regain feeling back in them. 

_ So long…  _

The muffled thoughts began to circle again,but the proximity kept them at bay for the most part. Hongjoong still only stared at Seonghwa. 

“I can’t read your mind this close, Seonghwa,” he said quietly, Seonghwa stiffening. “You need to tell me.” 

Seonghwa looked at him, and Hongjoong truly did wish he could make something out of the noises around him. 

Seonghwa’s mouth opened, and for a moment, it almost seemed as if he would remain silent. Hongjoong placed his hands in his lap, and Seonghwa’s eyes flickered down to them, swallowing. 

“It’s been…” 

Seonghwa’s hands shook where they clenched each other, eyes foggy. 

“It’s been  _ so long _ .” 

~~~~~~~

“Never touch them,” his mother hissed desperately, shoving the gloves onto Seonghwa’s hands. “Understand, sweetheart? Never. We can’t risk it. We can’t risk them taking you away. Just don’t touch anyone. Don’t let them touch you. We never know who might have abilities manifesting, so just don’t-” 

“Don’t touch anyone,” Seonghwa repeated, to show he understood. “Don’t let them touch me.” 

“Yes,” she said quickly, nodding encouragingly, eyes a little frantic. “I can’t lose you, sweetheart. Don’t let them take you away. Don’t let them take my baby-” 

It was all he heard: don’t let anyone touch you. If you do… they’ll find you. 

From the day he felt the tingle of an ability rushing through his veins, thirteen-year-old Seonghwa had been told that he would be taken away. His mother wielded it almost like a threat, hidden behind concerns and desperate shouts for him to stay with her. 

“You’re all I have left!” she almost screamed. “Your father is gone, Seonghwa! Do you want to leave me here alone, too?” 

“No, Mom, but I couldn’t stop- We were playing sports-” 

“Do you want them to find you?” she yelled. “Do you want to be taken away from me?” 

“N-No-” 

“Then you need to take responsibility! You need to understand the consequences of your actions!” 

Seonghwa was not allowed to let anyone touch him. He was not allowed to touch anyone else. 

His mother did not touch him. What had begun as helping him put his gloves on, kissing each one with a smile and a reminder to stay safe had begun to…. Twist. With each passing year, his mother became… frantic. Almost obsessed. 

Seonghwa stood by stoically, his mother’s words and threats clinging to his ears darkly as he glared at anyone who came within a few feet of him. 

“Your son is not blending well with the other children,” the principal told her. “He stands on his own and almost threatens the children to keep their distance-” 

“Good!” she snapped. “Does my child not have the right to exist in his own space? Shouldn’t you be talking to those people who keep trying to bother him?” 

Seonghwa was… gently suggested to try another school. One that would be better for his personality. His mother was delighted. 

“Why didn’t I think of it sooner!” she said, eyes wide with ideas. “Home schooling! Yes, you won’t ever have to see anyone else. You can stay in the house and no one will ever be able to find out!” 

Seonghwa spent a year barely leaving his home. His mother worked, leaving him by himself, and Seonghwa sat, doing his schoolwork until he went to bed, usually before she came home. 

Not on purpose, he assured her. He was just always tired. He worked hard on his schoolwork. 

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said genuinely, not wanting to hurt her after so much, stepping forward with his arms open to hug her. 

His mother flinched back, shoving his gloved hands away. 

Seonghwa stood in shock at the rejection, his heart stopping. 

His mother wet her lips, clearing her throat. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she said, offering a small smile. “I just… we’re not entirely sure what you could do to a normal person, you know?” 

She smiled. 

Seonghwa stared at her, arms slowly lowering as his chest twisted. “A normal person,” he muttered darkly under his breath. 

Her smile faded slightly. “Oh- You know what I mean, sweetheart,” she assured him, expression straining. “Just- Sometimes people like you have side effects, even on regular people. You don’t want to accidentally hurt someone, do you?” 

Seonghwa’s chest was filled with bricks as he stared at the ground. 

His mother simply nodded at him, as if it was solved. “Just remember, sweetheart… you can’t touch anyone. That includes me, okay? We don’t know what might happen, eventually.” 

Seonghwa didn’t know when it happened. He hadn’t even noticed. At some point, it had changed from small touches to his bare skin, and then only over his clothing, and somehow he had missed it when his mother had stopped touching him completely. But she had never… never rejected it before. 

Seonghwa turned on his heel, ignoring his mother’s calls, and he ran from the house. 

He didn’t know where he thought he was going, but he ran. Wound up at some old park he hadn’t been to since before he gained his abilities. 

Seonghwa didn’t go home all night. He laid down in the sand and stared at the sky until he saw the sun over the horizon. 

At some point… his mother had stopped being a mother. Her urges had stopped being caring and had turned to paranoia. Her love had turned to… something else. Something he didn’t recognize. 

Seonghwa dragged his feet home, feeling like his skin was stretched too tightly across his muscles. Like it was burning and freezing and twisting. He just wanted to tear it off. 

In a burst of outrage, he tore off his gloves, throwing them off into a direction he didn’t bother to check, feeling anger burning behind his eyes as he scrubbed at them. 

He pulled his hands away, staring at the tear streaks across them, staring at the pale skin that had… that hadn’t seen daylight in years. Seonghwa stared at his own hand, looking at it as if it were a stranger’s. He didn’t recognize it. He had barely ever seen it. 

He rushed over to where he threw the gloves, picking them up and shoving his hands back into them, his heart rising to his throat. 

He barely even recognized himself. He stared at the familiar, worn leather, choking on something. 

This is who he had become. These gloves. 

He stormed towards home, refusing to feel anything but anger. Fury. At his mother, at himself, at anyone he passed. It was everyone’s fault. Every person on this earth was guilty- 

Seonghwa stood at the end of his driveway, staring. 

A foreign black car sat there. 

Seonghwa’s heart crushed in his chest.  _ No _ . 

He took a step backwards. 

The door opened quickly, his mother standing there with a smile that was… 

It scared him. 

“Seonghwa!” she called brightly. “Come in, there’s someone-” 

Seonghwa ran for the second time, fear coursing through him as he took off down the pavement- 

A hand caught his wrist painfully, yanking back, and Seonghwa cried out as he fought the hold that dragged him back down the sidewalk. 

The suit’s grip was tight enough to burn, almost carrying Seonghwa who thrashed. “Let go, get off! Don’t touch m-” 

“Seonghwa!” his mother yelled. “Seonghwa, stop fighting, they’re going to help-” 

The man stopped, holding Seonghwa in place as he opened the back door. 

Seonghwa’s eyes met his mother’s who looked tired. 

She was tired of him. Tired of putting up the effort to hide her child. Of the freak, hiding among normal people. 

To her credit, she looked regretful as the man shoved Seonghwa into the back of the car. 

Congratulations. You aren’t a complete monster. But Seonghwa was still being taken away. 

Every spot the man had touched on him burned. 

~~~~~~~~

Touch had not become a matter of hurting. 

It became a matter of instinct. 

Everything in Seonghwa was hardwired to reject it. To fear it. 

Then Hongjoong grabbing grabbed his hand, collapsing onto the ground in the culmination of every single one of Seonghwa’s fears. 

And then Hongjoong held his hand out, and he touched Hongjoong’s hands, and he knew- he  _ knew  _ that Hongjoong could no longer hear his thoughts. Could no longer access any part of his ability. Hongjoong didn’t seem to care. 

His skin buzzed where Hongjoong’s skin touched his. Hongjoong’s skin was soft. Smooth, but Seonghwa could feel the lines and creases of his palm and finger pads that pressed against him. 

Hongjoong touched him back, unflinching and not hesitating for even a moment. 

It felt like a current being hooked up to his skin, buzzing from his fingers, down to chest- 

It had been so long. 

So long since anyone… Since he had allowed anyone… 

Seonghwa had to draw his hands back, the balloon in his chest growing too large to breathe around as he clenched his hands against himself, almost ready to sob. 

Hongjoong’s hands were soft. 

~~~~~~~

Hongjoong embraced him. 

Seonghwa thought that this must be what it feels like to die. It felt like parts of him were shutting down while others were trying to kick on, and Hongjoong hugged him tightly, wiry arms holding Seonghwa close even when Seonghwa twitched in his grip. 

His own mother hadn’t even touched him in years. 

And this boy he had barely met a week ago was embracing him, face pressing to Seonghwa’s neck as Seonghwa stared over his shoulder blankly. 

Why…

Why was he doing it? 

Why did he… not care? 

“You’re not hurting anyone,” Hongjoong murmured quietly, barely audible. “And that means you’re free to touch whoever you want, Seonghwa.” 

And Seonghwa would have never… never imagined that this place he had been taken to against his will could somehow be  _ better _ . 

But here he was, ready to throw up because Hongjoong was hugging him and his hands were cool and soft. 

How long had it been since he had felt warmth from another person? 

Seonghwa’s hands moved on their own, touching Hongjoong’s waist. Another beat where he tried to figure out what to do, what- 

He surged against Hongjoong. Wrapped his arms around him tightly and buried his face in his neck, and even as the back of his mind screamed for him not to, Seonghwa let himself press the skin of his face into Hongjoong’s neck, feeling the sensation of another against him. 

He smelled like shampoo. 

“I’m sorry.” 

At first, Seonghwa thought the whisper had come from him, but then Hongjoong was rubbing a comforting hand up and down his spine, sending goosebumps racing over the top of Seonghwa’s skin. 

“You… You were hurt just as much as anyone else here,” he murmured into Seonghwa’s neck. “And I only treated you like an outsider. I didn’t- I should have treated you like I did everyone else. I should have accepted you and tried to help…” 

Seonghwa felt his eyes sting as he tried to laugh, but it came out flat. “I was an asshole.” 

“Not an excuse,” Hongjoong said with surprising conviction, Seonghwa’s chest tightening. “You were  _ here _ , and that meant I should have… I should have been better.” 

Seonghwa felt like half his brain was trying to shut down. He took a deep breath and smelled the shampoo the compound gave them, mixed with something like laundry detergent. He pressed his nose to Hongjoong’s temple, and the scent became stronger. 

“This makes up for it pretty good,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Hongjoong didn’t respond. Simply swallowed audibly before squeezing Seonghwa a little harder. 

Seonghwa thought he was going to die. 

But, by God, it would be happy. 

_ Here _ , of all places, he would die happy. 

~~~~~~~

San’s head rested in Seonghwa’s lap as they watched a movie after breakfast. San swore up and down that it would make him cry. Yunho had excused himself, saying he didn’t feel like sobbing this morning, but Mingi and Jongho were eager to test San’s claim. 

It was halfway through the fifth death scene that Seonghwa glanced around, brow pulling down. 

“Where’s Hongjoong?” He questioned. He kept waiting for the other to wake up and come get breakfast, but it was almost noon, and he still hadn’t seen him emerge from his room. 

San didn’t take his eyes from the screen. “Probably still in bed.” 

“At noon?” Seonghwa questioned, leaning to see San’s face. 

“It’s probably a bad day,” Jongho said casually, glancing away to look at Seonghwa. “You know… for…” He tapped the side of his head, probably pantomiming Hongjoong’s ability. At Seonghwa’s continued confusions, he winced. “He gets headaches and stuff, when things get too loud… up there.” He tapped his head again. “He usually just spends most of the day in his room when it gets bad.” 

Seonghwa hummed quietly, sitting back again, frowning at the TV without really looking at it. He’d heard, in passing, Hongjoong complain about headaches and being over-sensitive, but he hadn’t seen one bad enough yet that Hongjoong would need to confine himself to his room. 

Was it that bad? Hongjoong seemed to have a pretty high pain threshold. 

Seonghwa lifted San’s head, the other sitting up in confusion as Seonghwa stood. “I’m gonna go check on him,” he said in passing as he walked towards the doorway. 

No one really said anything, but when Seonghwa glanced back they were all staring at him curiously. 

Seonghwa made a quick stop by the kitchen, grabbing a cup of water and a pack of crackers, walking quietly to Hongjoong’s bedroom door that was shut firmly. He hesitated, unsure if knocking would be too much for his headache. Maybe he should just go in? But that was rude. But how did he- 

_ You can come in.  _

Seonghwa jumped, spilling some water over his hand as he whipped around, but the hallway was devoid of anyone else, and he turned again, wondering what the fuck- 

_ Sorry. Should have warned you…  _

Seonghwa winced, glancing behind himself once more, and no… that voice was inside his head. 

“Hongjoong?” he whispered, more to ensure he wasn’t crazy. It sounded like Hongjoong’s voice, but… not his voice.

_ Yeah… Sorry, you can come in….  _

Even in his mind, Hongjoong’s voice sounded… croaky. Raspy. 

But Seonghwa did as he was told, pushing the door open carefully and stepping into the pitch black room. In the light from the hallway, he could see a mound of blankets and a puff of familiar long hair. 

_ Close the door… Please…  _

Seonghwa closed it quickly, blocking out the light as he stood in the darkness, for a moment, unsure of what he should do. 

_ Sorry… Talking… hurts.  _

The voice in his head echoed slightly, like his brain didn’t know where it was coming from, so it just said it was coming from everywhere. 

“Should I…” Should Seonghwa stop talking? Did that hurt more than trying to think? 

_ You can talk. I just…  _

The thought never finished. Seonghwa swallowed. “I brought you some crackers and water,” he said, holding them dumbly. “Since you didn’t eat.” 

_ Thanks… You can just put them on the…  _

He trailed off again, and Seonghwa frowned. “Hongjoong?” he whispered. 

_ Sorry, you can… The nightstand…  _

Seonghwa didn’t move for a moment, worry clawing at his chest as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, allowing him to make out the startlingly still form in the bed. 

_ You don’t have to be so worried… It’s normal…  _

“What is?” Seonghwa questioned quietly. “You laying in bed in so much pain you can’t even use your ability?” 

_ I’ve got… a really inconvenient ability…  _

Seonghwa let out a quiet sigh, walking towards the nightstand slowly. “There’s nothing we can do to help?” Was there medicine or something they could give him? 

_ No… It’ll go away once I manage to get… my barriers back up…  _

Seonghwa paused. “Barriers?” 

_ To block the minds around me… I hear them… All the time… When they get too loud, it’s not… pleasant… I can’t make barriers strong enough to… block them completely…  _

Hongjoong sounded exhausted. As if he was losing the energy to even speak in his mind. 

Seonghwa tried to imagine that. The thoughts of… hundreds of people… maybe more… pounding against him at all times… He had described it like a rock concert. His own thoughts were often rapid and chaotic, but to imagine his voice amplified a thousand times- 

_ You don’t have to pity me… It’s not… that bad… I figured it…  _

He trailed off again, and Seonghwa felt something heavy settle in his chest. “Hongjoong…” 

_ I’m okay…  _

That was bullshit. 

Seonghwa wanted to say something, but… really, what right did he have to say it? He hadn’t been here long enough to try and convince Hongjoong whether or not he was truly okay. Hongjoong was tired, he was in pain. Seonghwa needed to leave his little items and then leave him to rest because his thoughts probably weren’t helping. 

_ Seonghwa, it’s not-  _

Seonghwa shook his head, walking to the nightstand. “I’ll let you rest,” he whispered, setting down the cup and crackers with a small noise against the wood- 

Hongjoong gasped, and even in the darkness, Seonghwa saw his hands leap to his forehead, grasping at it as his breathing came harsher. 

“What?” Seonghwa whispered, blood running colder, frozen where he stood. “What happened? What hurts-” He shut his own mouth as Hongjoong curled into his hands with ragged breathing. 

_ No, it’s- I- you- can’t-  _

Seonghwa frowned, Hongjoong’s thoughts coming through in bursts that didn’t make sense. Holy shit, what if whatever hurt him was harming his ability? What did Seonghwa- 

_ It- Seonghwa- you- ability-  _

Seonghwa’s heart stopped. 

_ His  _ ability. He was currently standing less than a meter away from Hongjoong. 

“I’m sorry,” he burst, stepping away quickly, horror in his veins. 

With surprising speed, Hongjoong sat up, his hand snaking around Seonghwa’s gloved hand, catching his fingers weakly. 

(Seonghwa still wore his gloves, but it was no longer out of such an innate fear. It was mostly just to make sure the others could touch him without having to worry about it.) 

Seonghwa froze as if Hongjoong had crushed his hand. 

“No,” Hongjoong said, aloud, head hung low, voice pinched and tight. “‘s not you,” he rasped. “Not- The.. ‘s quieter…” He brought up the hand not holding Seonghwa’s to his face, rubbing at his eyes. “Didn’t ‘xpect it…It’s okay…” 

Seonghwa stared, heart in his throat and adrenaline pumping viciously. “It’s quieter,” he murmured. “That’s… good?” Or did it just hurt more to have it taken away? Like going from a rock concert to silence? 

Hongjoong hesitated for a moment, and Seonghwa was about to pull away, but then his hand tightened on Seonghwa’s slightly, his head still hung low. 

“It’s… better,” he admitted in a quiet voice. 

It was… better. With the voices quiet. 

Hongjoong suddenly let go of his hand. “Sorry, you can go,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll-” 

“Do you want me to stay?” Seonghwa asked quietly, taking a step forward. “I could- I could sit near you… just keep them quiet so you can… sleep it off.” 

Hongjoong was still and quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to-” 

“I’m offering.” Seonghwa’s mouth felt tingly. Like something acidic was sitting in it. “If it’s that bad… I don’t mind just sitting next to you.” 

Seonghwa figured there was literally no reason not to. If taking away Hongjoong’s ability for a few hours was enough to let him recover… 

Seonghwa owed him that and so much more. 

Hongjoong was still quiet, seeming to weigh his options. So Seonghwa rolled his lips, taking a step closer and sitting on the edge of the bed. Hongjoong looked up at the dip of the mattress, and Seonghwa stared at him with heavy eyes. 

“Do you want them quiet or gone?” he offered, holding one of his hands in the other. 

Hongjoong stared, glancing between Seonghwa and his hands, as if trying to figure out if… Seonghwa didn’t know- if he  _ deserved  _ it? If he had a right to it? He looked conflicted. So Seonghwa slid one of the gloves off smoothly, holding out his hand. 

Hongjoong stared at it, a similar level of scared that Seonghwa had been when faced with contact with another. Seonghwa pushed his hand out a little more, eyes almost pleading. 

Hongjoong sucked in a breath, as if bracing himself. 

His hand slid into Seonghwa’s slowly, dragging against him from his fingertips to his wrist where Hongjoong’s fingers curled around it. (It was soft.) 

Hongjoong let out a choked breath, jerking forward a little, one hand reaching up to his forehead, holding it tightly, breathing through his teeth. 

Seonghwa held his breath. Hongjoong breathed deeply, tense shoulders rising and falling as if trying to keep himself from vomiting. Seonghwa waited, copying Hongjoong from before and rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. 

“Okay?” Seonghwa whispered carefully. 

Hongjoong swallowed audibly, nodding his head slowly. “Yeah,” he rasped, lifting strained eyes that were misty with relief. “I- You don’t-” 

“Just lay back down,” Seonghwa told him, scooting forward so Hongjoong’s arm wouldn’t have to reach. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

And it probably spoke louder to his condition, the fact that Hongjoong didn’t fight him, just giving him a thick swallow before laying down against his pillow, a sigh escaping him, as if laying down after being on your feet all day. His hand almost shook inside Seonghwa’s. 

“ _ Thank you _ .” His voice shook, and Seonghwa pressed his lips together tightly as he gave his hand a little squeeze, the contact point between them thrumming. 

“Anytime,” he murmured, feeling Hongjoong’s skin against his. 

And he found he truly did mean it. 

Hongjoong was out like a light within minutes, and Seonghwa settled in, staring at Hongjoong’s hands- smaller than his own, but warmer more often than not. He placed them palm to palm, seeing where Hongjoong’s fingers stopped short of his own. 

He laced their fingers, feeling the sensation of holding hands- feeling where their fingers touched and where their hands sat comfortably against each other. 

Seonghwa quickly shifted their hands, still holding Hongjoong’s, but keeping it gently in one hand, just holding his fingers, his face burning. 

That was weird, Seonghwa. You made that weird. Just because you have a weird thing with touching doesn’t mean you get to flaunt that weird thing. 

So Seonghwa sat there, keeping whatever thoughts plagued Hongjoong at bay, and when he looked at his face, it wasn’t pinched or tense. It was smooth and peaceful, in a way that Hongjoong wasn’t even when he wasn’t suffering from headaches. 

Hongjoong had been here a long time. Seonghwa had gathered that much. And it was… incredibly heartbreaking when he thought back to their fight… Hongjoong yelling that they were going to be here until they died… that there was nothing for them but this compound and each other. 

All they had was each other. And that meant they stuck together, they combined forces, they made the most of their situations, and they became  _ family _ .

Hongjoong’s aggressive defensiveness for the others- threatening Seonghwa for his apathy towards them, disturbing the peace they had worked so hard to build in this facility. And Seonghwa, after he had allowed himself to be swallowed up by these people, understood. 

They were in this together. 

Hongjoong’s hand twitched in his as he slept. 

~~~~~~~

And so, Seonghwa found himself in Hongjoong’s bed. 

Not often. Not even close to frequently, but enough that it sort of became a thing. 

Enough that the others would enter the kitchen with sober expressions. “Hongjoong isn’t feeling good.” 

It was weekly, at best. Sometimes going longer. Sometimes more often. Hongjoong would scoot over to the edge of his bed, eyes tight with pain. 

“Don’t just sit there the whole time… you can lay down if you want.” 

And at first, Seonghwa sat there, terrified of moving too much, scared of doing anything but holding onto Hongjoong’s hand (or not touching him at all, if Hongjoong just asked that the voices be dimmed). 

That had sort of been thrown out the window when Seonghwa accidentally fell asleep beside Hongjoong one time and woke up with the other curled up on his chest. 

“You’re touch starved.” 

Seonghwa tensed where he held Hongjoong’s hand, the other’s eyes closed against the headache that had resigned him to his room yet again. 

“And I know why you are,” Hongjoong murmured. Seonghwa had already told him that. “But it’s still… sad.” 

Seonghwa wet his lips. “You always get delirious when you get these headaches…” 

“I talk rubbish, but not nonsense,” Hongjoong whispered, curled on his side. “You don’t… you don’t have to reserve touch for times like that.” He squeezed Seonghwa’s hand, sending a shiver up his spine. “Even if you mute our abilities at the breakfast table… it’s okay.” 

Seonghwa stared at Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong, who was constantly bombarded with a thousand thoughts at all times. Who had admitted- in a headache haze- that a part of him so selfishly wanted Seonghwa to just stop the minds around him all the time. Who battled with his abilities every day. 

“Do you hate your ability?” Seonghwa asked quietly, staring at the ceiling. 

Hongjoong was quiet for several moments too long. But Seonghwa still allowed him his time. “Do I hate it…? No,” He answered quietly, slowly. “I regret it sometimes. I get frustrated, but in terms of wishing I didn’t have it… No. It’s just an obstacle to work around.” 

“ _ Why _ ?” Seonghwa couldn’t help himself from demanding quietly. “It seems as though the only thing this ability is good for is getting you stuck in the compound and hurting you so badly, you can hardly  _ move _ .” 

Hongjoong squeezed Seonghwa’s hand. “One of those things is worth the other,” he murmured. 

Seonghwa felt like Jongho had just punched him in the chest. “What?” 

“Being put here is worth times like this,” Hongjoong said calmly, tiredly. “I can’t imagine that I would be better off if I lived back at home. And home doesn’t have you guys.” 

Seonghwa chewed the inside of his lip. Seonghwa was… happier here than he had ever been at home. Here, he wasn’t threatened to hide, wasn’t demanded to keep to himself. In fact, he had almost been threatened to socialize. 

“Do you hate your ability?” Hongjoong echoed. 

Seonghwa had expected the question, and he closed his eyes slowly. “I was told to.” 

Hongjoong’s hand tightened on his. “Do you still hate it?” 

He wet his lips. “I don’t know if I ever hated it. I think I hated myself more than I hated my ability. But I don’t…” He paused, trying to collect his thoughts as Hongjoong threaded their fingers together. “I don’t think I hate it. I just regret everything that came with it. Not this, though,” He said quietly, squeezing Hongjoong’s hand. “I hate how I met all of you, but… I’m glad I did.” 

Because without them, Seonghwa would still be nothing but the gloves he hid within. 

Hongjoong shifted, and Seonghwa loosened his grip, in case he wanted to let go, but Hongjoong simply rolled further onto his side, shifting closer to Seonghwa until he was pressed to his side and his head rested on Seonghwa’s chest. 

Hongjoong’s other hand was thrown over his waist. Hongjoong had never had a problem with touch.

Hongjoong was warm. Solid. Even if he was smaller than Seonghwa in most ways. 

“You can touch here, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong murmured, voice a little slurred with residual pain. “You don’t have to be afraid or hate it. Not here. Not with us.” 

Seonghwa… knew this. Inherently, now. 

He couldn’t describe half the feelings and emotions he experienced. Most of them were just a buzz of  _ something  _ in the back of his mind. But he knew that when Hongjoong held his hand, when he laid on him, when he hugged him- 

Things Seonghwa had been terrified of before… 

When he did them, Seonghwa didn’t feel pain or fear. He felt solid. Grounded. He wanted to touch back, to prove to himself that it was allowed, that it was  _ welcomed _ . 

Seonghwa wanted to welcome it. Because it felt… it felt  _ good _ . 

And the fact that by touching Hongjoong, Seonghwa wasn’t hurting, he was  _ healing _ , it was- 

Unbelievable.

Seonghwa placed a hand on Hongjoong’s back, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt, feeling the rise and fall of his lungs, feeling the little puffs of breath against his collarbone, feeling the way he shifted naturally, his fingers playing with the edge of Seonghwa’s shirt- 

A thousand touches Seonghwa hadn’t experienced in so fucking long. 

Some that he was sure he had never received. 

He let his head fall until his nose brushed Hongjoong’s hair- a gesture Seonghwa had never done before- and Hongjoong chuckled against his chest. 

“I feel like a cat.” 

Seonghwa found himself laughing wetly, feeling his eyes sting even as he didn’t move. “This is… okay?” 

Hongjoong hummed, settling in further against Seonghwa. “Feels nice.” 

Seonghwa didn’t cry. No, he did not. But it was a close call that he was sure Hongjoong was aware of. He just made small circles on Seonghwa’s side with his hand resting there, saying nothing. 

And even more than the big touches- the embraces and the dog piles- Seonghwa found his heart racing with every small, insignificant touch Hongjoong placed as naturally as he breathed. 

~~~~~~~

At first, the silence was terrifying. 

And then, it was liberating. 

It felt like a pressure taken from his mind, a weight lifted from his chest, something like pure relief and utter freedom as the thoughts around him were dimmed and then silenced. 

When Seonghwa silenced the minds around him in the throes of Hongjoong’s headaches, it felt like a hand massaging a sore muscle- an inherent desire to press closer and pull away because it hurt, but it was  _ good _ . 

Hongjoong could never let him do it for too long. He just… didn’t think it was necessary. He would let the headache fade to a manageable level, and then force himself to let go. At least, he never let him do it for long with the  _ purpose  _ of silencing them. 

When he touched Seonghwa just to touch him, he was okay with letting the silence linger. 

Seonghwa’s mind was… not  _ different  _ from the others, but there was something notable about it. Maybe it was the manipulation his mother had enacted on him, maybe it was the certain opinion he held of his ability… maybe it was just Seonghwa’s personality itself shining through. 

But Hongjoong found himself… drawn to it. 

Seonghwa… who had been forced into isolation for so long. Who had been told to fear touches and what they may bring. Who shied from touch, but whom Hongjoong heard begging for it within the safety of his own mind. 

Seonghwa’s thoughts were fascinating, the hestiancies and confidence that they bounced back and forth between without prompting. 

The way those thoughts influenced his actions that he slowly began to mold out of what his mother had shaped them into, and working them into what he  _ wanted  _ them to be. 

“Do you need… me to lay down with you?” he would asked when Hongjoong would be sitting in the living room with his eyes closed, not quite to the point of needing to go lay down. 

_ Stupid,  _ he would hear his mind hiss.  _ If he wanted you to, he would have asked. Or something. Stop talking, you’re hurting his head.  _

And Seonghwa would waver with each second Hongjoong drew the strength to respond. 

_ He wants you to leave.  _

And then. 

_ No. No, because if he wanted me to leave, he would have said so already. He’s just trying to decide. Just be patient.  _

A careful, careful hand would brush his, making the noise flicker blissfully. 

“Hongjoong?” 

He could no longer hear the thoughts racing around Seonghwa’s head. But he didn’t need to when Seonghwa would take his hand more fully. Hongjoong’s response was wrapping his fingers around Seonghwa’s gently, grateful he didn’t need to gather the strength to speak.

And Hongjoong didn’t need to read minds to feel the relief radiating off of Seonghwa. 

And that, more than anything else he had ever experienced, was intoxicating. 

~~~~~~~

Yunho hugged him good morning. San tugged on his arm as he demanded he watch whatever movie he decided on. Mingi annoyed the hell out of him until Seonghwa smacked him, just to get him to behave. 

Like before, he didn’t quite realize when the thought of touching turned from fear to acceptance. 

Or when it turned from acceptance to natural. Or from natural to eager. 

But Seonghwa didn’t want to keep taking every time he touched them. Not that he minded,  _ really _ , but it felt… felt like it was time to take responsibility. He had spent so much of his life hiding and denying… he wanted to take  _ control _ . 

Seonghwa took his own advice: they had so much time on their hands, it was time to teach himself. He was going to learn to control his ability. He would learn to touch someone without taking their ability away. He would gain that much more freedom for himself. 

He would do that for himself. 

Which failed terribly. 

“No, I can  _ feel  _ it,” Seonghwa insisted, brow pinched in tight concentration, his head pounding with strain. “No, get closer and tell me-” 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said almost sadly, standing in Seonghwa’s room where he had been for the past three hours, delivering the same news he had for the past three hours. “I can feel it from here. It’s not working.” 

Seonghwa let go of the breath he had been holding and tried not to look as disappointed as he felt, his head hurting for nothing. Another day, wasted to Seonghwa making a fool of himself in front of Hongjoong, whom he roped into helping him. 

“You’re not failing,” Hongjoong assured him. 

Seonghwa had stopped questioning or being surprised by Hongjoong picking up on whatever his surface thoughts were. 

“It’s barely been a few weeks, it took me years-” 

“But I’m making  _ no  _ progress, Hongjoong,” He sighed, scrubbing at his eyes. “ _ None _ .” He hadn’t even been able to retract whatever range his ability out to. 

“You don’t have the desperation I did,” Hongjoong comforted, sitting on the bed with him and taking his hand. “Which isn’t  _ bad _ . It just means you need a new approach.” He brushed Seonghwa’s slightly-sweaty hair off of his forehead. 

(It no longer elicited such surprised emotions, but Seonghwa still found the touches more comforting than any words could be.) 

“It’ll work out,” Hongjoong said quietly. “You just need… guidance or something.” 

And that came in the form of a hyperactive magic class whose voice alone was enough to give Hongjoong a telepathy-level headache. 

Wooyoung was a somnokinetic who walked in and demonstrated his abilities by touching Mingi and putting him to sleep, grinning like a madman. 

It was like taking the powerhouse that San was but putting some amount of control on him. Which made him terrifying. 

He was the only person who had brought more than one bag with him. 

“These are my books,” He said, taking book after book out of his second bag. “I keep records and stuff in them when I remember to. Which isn’t often, but you get the idea. See?” 

A notebook opened to a T-chart was shoved under Seonghwa’s nose as Wooyoung grinned. “See? These are the pulses of Sleep and over here is the stage of sleep.” 

Seonghwa pushed the book down, trying to get out the question he had been trying to ask since Wooyoung got here. “So you have a good control on your ability?” 

Wooyoung didn’t glance up from the book, flipping through it rapidly. “Me? Yeah, I guess. It’s not that hard. It’s just dreamwalking and stuff. Like stepping through a doorway. I mean at the beginning, I was always putting people to sleep whenever I touched them, but I sorted that out. The harder part is stopping myself from picking up everyone else’s dreams. My sister always had this really weird one about-” 

“Can you show me?” 

Wooyoung glanced up from his book, already placing it on the desk as he grabbed another. “Show you what?” He flipped through that one, too. 

Seonghwa swallowed. “Can you show me how you learned to reign in your ability?” 

Wooyoung frowned. “I just… stopped doing it.” 

“ _ How _ ?”

Wooyoung shrugged, putting more books away. “I don’t know, I just… I felt the thing that puts them to sleep and I made it stop activating when I touched them. I just felt it.” 

“I’ve been trying to  _ feel it  _ for weeks! It doesn’t  _ work _ .” 

Wooyoung scanned Seonghwa’s face, trailing his body and then held out his hand. “Let me see,” he said, gesturing for Seonghwa’s hand. 

Seonghwa had nothing to lose, so he let Wooyoung hold it. 

Wooyoung started, his face stretching into a grin. “Cool,” He muttered, letting go and then holding his hand and then letting go and holding. And then he did it slowly, getting close and not touching and then he touched and then he pulled away- 

“What are you-” 

“A vacuum.” 

Seonghwa stopped. “I’m sorry?”

Wooyoung looked at him casually, as if he were stating the obvious, letting go of his hand. “A vacuum. That’s what it feels like. You’re sucking the ability away. Just figure out how to turn of the vacuum.” 

Seonghwa stared at his hand, then up at Wooyoung who was continuing to take out books. “Why are you so in tune to this?” 

Wooyoung hesitated where he made to place a book. He turned back to Seonghwa, a forced smile on his lips. “I had a lot of alone time to figure it out.” He placed the book down. “My parents figured the safest place for everyone was my room, so I was locked in there most of the time. Lots of time to figure out what was what. I measured my dreamwalking distance at twenty miles. Cool, right?” 

And maybe he said it light enough, but Seonghwa knew it was never so pleasant. He could imagine Wooyoung staring at a closed door that hadn’t been opened for days, occupying his time by manipulating his ability that put him there. 

He wet his lips. “Thanks for the help,” he said genuinely. 

Wooyoung gave him a brighter grin. “It’s not a problem. Wanna see what the physical manifestation of Sleep looks like?”

~~~~~~

“Hongjoong!” 

Hongjoong bolted up in his bed as the door slammed open, Seonghwa leaping across the bed and tackling him in a hug. 

_ I did it I did it I did it I did it-  _

Seonghwa face pressed to his neck as he wrapped his arms around Hongjoong, almost crushing him as Hongjoong realized that those were Seonghwa’s thoughts he was hearing. 

It was definitely not at full strength- the thoughts coming in far away, like yelling down a tunnel or across a field, but he could hear  _ something  _ even as Seonghwa’s hands latched onto his bare skin. 

“I turned off the vacuum!” He exclaimed, pulling away. 

Hongjoong’s proud smile faded as confusion slapped him across the face. 

“You what?” 

Seonghwa just hugged him again, tighter, warmer, and it was- 

Hongjoong could feel the excitement thrumming through Seonghwa, pulsing from him in bursts that almost felt like a heartbeat, coloring the air around them a vibrant warmth. 

Hongjoong had never felt something like that from Seonghwa before.

He tried to remember how to breathe for a second, overwhelmed with the physical and mental assault. Even among all the things that fascinated him about Seonghwa.... Nothing like this had ever smacked him across the face. 

“Hongjoong?”

He hadn’t even realized Seonghwa was speaking until he pulled away to frown at him. Hongjoong shoved his own awe down as he grinned, hugging Seonghwa back, both of them falling back in his bed. 

_ Yes Yes Finally I did it Finally It’s okay I can-  _

“I know you could,” he murmured against his ear, something more than pride swallowing his chest as Seonghwa’s thoughts created a tornado tearing it’s way around his mind in the best way possible. In ways Hongjoong had never seen before. 

_ I did it I can touch I can touch I did it-  _

Hongjoong had never heard Seonghwa’s thoughts so… bright. 

And for a startling moment, the world was so loud. 

But Hongjoong only heard Seonghwa. 

~~~~~~~

“How did you get here?” Seonghwa whispered, both of them laying on their sides in Hongjoong’s bed, fingers laced. “It’s been… four years?”

Hongjoong nodded slowly, eyes closed as the last remnants of headache were forced away by Seonghwa’s still-not-quite-under-control abilities. 

Hongjoong’s voice came through into Seonghwa’s mind, but it was muffled and far away, like whispering through a crack in the door. It still came through, though, which was more progress than Seonghwa had made in weeks. 

_ I came when I was fourteen, right after my ability manifested.  _

Hongjoong winced. “Sorry,” he muttered tiredly. “I keep forgetting to actually talk.” 

“You don’t have to,” Seonghwa assured him, tapping his fingers against the back of Hongjoong’s hand. “If it’s easier not to.” 

“Yeah, but it’s weird-” 

“It’s not weird,” Seonghwa said quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t mind. It’s cool, it’s-” He cut himself off, coughing. “I mean, it’s just like… like you’re just a little bit closer or something. It’s fine.” 

Hongjoong stared at him, and Seonghwa was grateful for the dark. 

_ Okay,  _ his voice whispered in his mind. Seonghwa shivered a little, feeling oddly like someone was whispering into his ear, but it wasn’t weird, it was… almost comforting. Almost familiar at this point. 

_ Not much happened. I started screaming because I was hearing voices, my parents heard my voice in their head, and it didn’t take much to figure what had happened.  _

Seonghwa frowned.  _ They just sent you away?  _

Hongjoong shuddered a little beside him.  _ You’re getting a little too good at communicating inside your head,  _ he said, a warmth to the voice that was almost amused.  _ But, yeah. My mom was pretty freaked out. I was here, alone, for a couple years before any of the others showed up.  _

Seonghwa chewed on the inside of his lip, brow pulling down. Seonghwa had spent years not touching anyone, but at least there had been people around. At the very least his mother, as horrid as it was. 

Seonghwa tried to imagine the massive compound they lived in, completely empty. Just himself wandering its steel hallways and echoing rooms. 

Have you ever been paying complete attention to something, but the back of your mind whispered something to you? Or played a memory that wasn’t related to what you were thinking about? 

Seonghwa focused on the Hongjoong before him, but in the very back of his mind, he saw a younger Hongjoong- a little thinner, a little sadder- sitting in the center of the living area rug, curled over his knees with his forehead pressed into his hands as he breathed harshly through his nose, expression pinched and pained- 

Seonghwa jerked his hand away, but, of course, the image wasn’t coming through his touch, and it only faded after he heard Hongjoong mumble a quiet- “Sorry…” 

Seonghwa turned to him, the other only staring at him through half-lidded eyes. 

The sight was so… heartbreaking. So fucking lonely, Seonghwa’s eyes stung. 

“Is that really what you did?” He whispered, voice shot and weak. 

Hongjoong’s expression wasn’t visible in the dark. “Most days, yeah. I spent most of my time… trying to figure out how to stop the voices.” 

Seonghwa didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what he was meant to do with this information, but it sat heavy inside of him, seared into the back of his mind- 

Seonghwa remembered the days when he sat at his living room table, schoolwork spread in front of him, eyes watching the clock tick second by second as he waited for his mother to return home, the gloves sitting on his hands, even while he was so alone, the empty house almost seeming to echo around him, every creak making him flinch, as if someone was coming to grab him- 

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, his hand seeking out Seonghwa’s, wrapping around it tightly. Seonghwa squeezed it back. 

_ You were so lonely…  _

Seonghwa knew Hongjoong could never say the words out loud. And he said nothing, laying back down beside Hongjoong, chest heavy. 

He was sure why the two of them had shown that side of themselves. But part of Seonghwa felt relief. Like he had shared a secret that had been slowly consuming him. 

“I’m glad… that I met you guys,” Seonghwa whispered, fingers lacing Hongjoong’s.  _ I’m glad that I met you.  _

Hongjoong swallowed, half-glancing at Seonghwa who didn’t look at him.  _ Me, too.  _

Seonghwa stared at the ceiling in silence, twisting his and Hongjoong’s fingers together idly, the seconds ticking by. 

Hongjoong suddenly shifted, rolling onto his side and placing his head against Seonghwa’s chest, folding himself around the other. 

Seonghwa frowned because usually this position was reserved for violent, persistent headaches that naturally forced Hongjoong closer to him. But Hongjoong’s headache wasn’t that bad… 

Not that Seonghwa was complaining. He simply shifted upwards, allowing Hongjoong’s head to fall more naturally, one arm coming around his waist. 

There was a steady pattern to the rise and fall of Hongjoong’s back against Seonghwa’s hand, and he was sure the other had fallen asleep. 

“I’m glad I met you,” He murmured into Seonghwa’s chest, his throat rumbling with the words as he pressed his face closer. “I’m glad you found a place here.” 

Seonghwa’s chest felt claustrophobic, but not because of Hongjoong’s weight against it. He stared at the ceiling, and then lowered his eyes to the top of Hongjoong’s head, soft hair tickling his nose as Seonghwa smelled the scent of shampoo. 

He pressed his nose into it gently. 

“It’s not like you made it very hard.” 

~~~~~~~

“He dreams about you.” 

Hongjoong frowned, glancing up from the book he had stolen from Yunho. “Excuse me?”

“Seonghwa,” Wooyoung said, hands in his pockets, his face the usual boredom he wore when nothing stimulating was happening. “He dreams about you.” 

Hongjoong felt like someone had dunked him in ice water as he straightened slowly. 

Even as a telepath-  _ not  _ what he was expecting to come out of Wooyoung’s mouth. 

“He- You said-  _ What _ ?” 

“Dreams about you.” 

“ _ Yeah _ , I got that,” he snapped, not really angry, just loud. He tossed the book aside. “Why are you looking into Seonghwa’s dreams?”

(Hongjoong’s entirety of his insides were churning violently, making him feel the need to throw up, even if he didn’t quite know why yet.) 

“I’m not,” Wooyoung stated plainly. “I can’t help the ones I see, the same as you can’t help but hear people’s thoughts on the surface. I only see the dreams with extreme emotions, and for the past week, that’s all I’ve been getting from Seonghwa.” 

Yeah, no, Hongjoong was going to throw up. 

Hongjoong felt like… like…  _ Why? _

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, voice quieter than he intended, something inside of him recoiling and withdrawing, like curling over an open to protect it. 

“Figured you’d want to know.” Wooyoung shrugged. 

“Isn’t that unethical?” Hongjoong demanded incredulously. “Telling others what everyone else is dreaming about?” 

Wooyoung laughed. “Hell, if I know. But I did.” 

“ _ Why _ ? What do you want me to do about it?” Hongjoong got to his feet, lost. 

“Dunno.” 

_ Stop beating around the bush, dumbass.  _

“What  _ bush _ ?” Hongjoong demanded, done with Wooyoung’s games. 

Wooyoung’s lips only curled into an amused grin. “I guess it depends on you.” 

“What  _ about  _ me?” 

“Whether or not you realize how much you dream about him.” 

Hongjoong froze as if Wooyoung had just smacked him across the face. Wooyoung’s grin never faded as he nodded. He brought one hand out of his pocket to salute Hongjoong. “I’m gonna go see what it takes to make Sleep explode, okay?” 

“ _ Wooyoung- _ ” 

“Later, hyung!” he called over his shoulder. 

Hongjoong was going to throw up. 

Okay, maybe over the past couple of weeks, Seonghwa had been making some appearances in his dreams. And maybe they were all really nice dreams where Hongjoong wasn’t plagued by headaches, and Seonghwa didn’t only lay down with him to ward them off. And maybe Hongjoong was a little braver in dreams. 

Maybe-  _ maybe-  _ he had had a couple where Seonghwa laid down with him and there was no reason for it, it just happened. Maybe-  _ maybe,  _ mind you- they looked at each other and Dream-Hongjoong would feel like something more was about to- 

Hongjoong was going to throw up. 

~~~~~~~

Seonghwa was laying in his room when Hongjoong peered around the doorframe, book open on his lap, a mental sigh on his lips. 

_ Just fucking kiss already.  _

Seonghwa glanced up to see Hongjoong doubled over, hacking into his hand, something going down the wrong pipe. 

Seonghwa sat up, frowning as he set his book aside. 

“You okay?” he asked, as Hongjoong waved an exaggerated hand to tell that he was fine. 

Jesus, this fucking guy was going to kill him. 

He shook his head, giving Seonghwa a thumbs up as he cleared his throat, cheeks and eyes red. 

“Just- I- Choked on my spit,” he managed, clearing his throat once more. “Sorry.” 

Seonghwa snorted. “Okay,” he said, lips twitching. “Do you need some water?”

Hongjoong shook his head firmly. “I- Uh, actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Seonghwa frowned slightly. “Sure,” he said, sitting up further, gesturing for Hongjoong to come in. As Hongjoong approached, he felt the voices begin to dim, but then Seonghwa retracted his ability, and they came back at full volume. Including his own. 

_ Weird…  _

“What’s up?” he asked as Hongjoong sat on the other side of the bed stiffly. 

Hongjoong stared at his knees, not quite able to look him in the eyes. “Uh, well. I just- It’s something- I mean, Wooyoung was… He...” 

“Is something wrong?” he asked quietly. Hongjoong could feel the pulses of concern radiating off of him. He reached out, sliding his hand into Hongjoong’s, warm palms pressed together in a soft pressure that still amazed Hongjoong that Seonghwa would enact. 

_ He dreams about you.  _

“It’s not wrong,” Hongjoong said quickly, looking down at his hands and then up at Seonghwa. “I-” 

_ I’m making him uncomfortable, I think.  _

“You’re not!” Hongjoong practically burst, and Seonghwa blinked, taken aback by the strong voice. “I mean- It’s okay, I-” He tightened his grip on Seonghwa’s hand, the gesture a little encouraging. “You’re okay.” 

“I know  _ I’m  _ okay,” Seonghwa said quietly. “I’m wondering if you are…” 

“I-” 

Hongjoong stared at him, begging his mouth to form the right words, but nothing came out. 

_ He looks scared…  _

It was a passing note in Seonghwa’s mind, but something tightened in Hongjoong’s chest. 

“I am scared,” he whispered. 

Seonghwa frowned deeper, hand tightening as he faced Hongjoong more fully. “Scared of what? What happened?” he asked quietly, wave after wave of gentle concern hitting Hongjoong like ocean currents, almost threatening to pull him under. 

_ What can I do to help How do I help you What do you need What should I do- _

He was going to throw up. 

“Nothing…happened, but I’m… scared,” he admitted. 

If he could show Seonghwa him at his lowest, why was this any different?

“Why-” 

Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa, shifting on the bed until he was kneeling right beside him, his hand still clasped tightly in Hongjoong’s, their heights slightly off as Seonghwa looked up the smallest bit to make eye contact, eyes a little wide and a little worried. 

“I’m scared of a lot of things,” Hongjoong murmured, heart in his throat. Seonghwa’s hand was warm. His other hand found Hongjoong’s free one, both of them encased in Seonghwa’s. “But for some reason… this scares me most.” 

Hongjoong rubbed his thumb over the back of Seonghwa’s hand, eyes dropping down to stare at their joined hands. It was an innocent gesture… one born out of hesitancy and desperation, but it had always been theirs. Their Thing, their comfort for each other, even when Seonghwa’s ability wasn’t a factor. 

And somewhere along the way, Hongjoong had twisted it into something it wasn’t meant to be. 

_ I think this is a dream…  _

It was a hoarse, quiet whisper in the back of his mind- simply an acknowledgement of a possibility,but with real fear attached to it as Hongjoong lifted their hands closer examine them. 

“It’s not.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes widened as he stiffened, and when Hongjoong met his eyes they were swirling with every emotion Hongjoong couldn’t read as his mind whited out to plank, panicked static. 

“It’s not,” Hongjoong repeated, quiet and scared. He was scared. Because this was something different. This was something that he had honestly convinced himself he would live the rest of his life without. 

This was something the suits had promised he would never have. And this was something he didn’t know if they could take away. 

This was more than being taken away to a lab somewhere on the line. This was his everything being gambled here. All of him. And all of Seonghwa, risked on the off chance that somehow, two freaks that the world locked away could keep this from going up in smoke. 

Seonghwa didn’t look like he was breathing. 

“But sometimes…” Hongjoong whispered, thumb brushing his hand. “Sometimes I think it might be... ” 

_ Holy shit, he knows he knows he knows what you did he knows-  _

The panic parted for only a mantra of icy fear. 

“Seonghwa…” His fingers laced through Seonghwa’s tightly, and his face hardened, releasing one of Seonghwa’s hands to wrap both around one, holding it tightly, almost wishing that Seonghwa was the one who could read minds because Hongjoong was running out of what to say. 

Just understand, he begged. 

“Seonghwa, I- For a while now, I… You have- I mean-” Hongjoong sighed, dropping his head down in frustration, his forehead brushing their joined hands, and he just wanted to rest his head there and forget everything and just stay as they were. 

But… 

Everything was silent around them. And it wasn’t because of Seonghwa’s ability. Hongjoong wet his lips, crystal clear eyes staring at Seonghwa and he saw… 

_ It has to be a dream.  _

“Seonghwa…” 

It was a desperate attempt at comfort, at consolation. 

“I…” He was going to throw up. 

_ Hongjoong doesn’t look at me like that in real life…  _

Hongjoong dreamed of silence. First, and foremost, he dreamed for blessed silence against the constant onslaught of white noise that assaulted his every sense. 

Then, he dreamed of comfort.  _ Almost  _ most of all, he dreamed for an end to the cursed solitude he existed within, the cold pressure of loneliness setting a chill in his bones that never went away. 

And then… 

“Seonghwa…”

And  _ then…  _

“I’ve been dreaming about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a little short thing I had sitting in my head for a while~ I wanted to try shorter, more jumpy writing just to see if I could do it? And while it KILLED me to leave out so much, I sort of enjoyed how easy it was to write~~  
But! This was a fun thing to do, so thank you for reading, and I’ll have my next story out when I can!  
See you next time!!  
Let me know what you thought!  
-SS

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it was okay!!!!  
This one actually has me really nervous because I couldn’t tell if it was too rushed, but I figured to hell with it- POST IT  
I’ll have the second chapter up soon, so look out for that!!  
Thank you for reading and let me know what you thought!!  
-SS


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